King of Shadows, Queen of Light
by Rhia474
Summary: NWN2,OC,with some liberties taken with the storyline and backgrounds. Eventual KC x Casavir. Feedback is very much appreciated. Chapter One starts out right after Old Owl Well.
1. Stay Close To Me

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**Disclaimers:**

**English is not my birth language, so any constructive feedback is appreciated.**

**There is, and will be, in the impending chapters, some language—nothing really bad, but be warned if you are sensitive to such things.**

**I write to music—there are songs that I had on continuous loop while writing this story. For this, I used _Kecharitomene_ from Loreena McKennitt's _An Ancient Muse_.**

**Chapter One-Stay Close To Me**

"What is it, Uncle?" I was sleepy, bruised, barely out of bed (my first sleep in weeks in a _real_ bed), barely washed, barely dressed, and barely civil. On top of everything else, what people usually politely call 'my time of the month' was also on me, and that did not improve my mood either. But, as opposed to a normal woman (or Qara, who usually just tried to torch _everything_ in sight when it was her turn and everyone just took it in stride), I was supposed to be calm, collected, courteous, aloof and impeccably groomed. After all, I was a paladin of Tyr.

Right.

I tried to get that mug of steaming coffee out of my uncle's hand, but he put it down behind him on the table and attempted to glower at me with his hands on his hips. It was hard for him to do that, as he was about two inches shorter than me. I _am_ tall.

But he took that mug away after he waved it under my nose, so obviously he wanted something. Even my before coffee morning brain understood that.

"Fine." I went around him, sat down at the table and grabbed the mug. M-mhm. Coffee. "What can I do for you, esteemed relative of mine?"

"Smartass." he snorted. "Just because I put up with…"

"Duncan!" I started to lose my patience, so I raised my voice. "Please, I just got back late last night from a rather extended crawl in an orc-and-troll infested cavern complex, completing _yet another_ heroic mission on the Watch's behalf. I am bruised despite all my healing efforts, I pulled my shoulder, I had to put up with Neeshka and Khelgar's worse-than-usual bickering ALL the way from Old Owl Well to the city gates…and you really, really don't want to know about what else I am having problems with today." I tried to look threatening, but I knew I was losing this battle before we even started. I was not wearing full plate, not even my chain shirt to back up the scowl, and despite my height, instead of brawn all I have to show is sinew and some curves.

"I need to talk to you." My uncle was not swayed by my little speech, having decided that there needed to be A Talk this morning, then. I even suspected the subject.

He remained standing and watched me take my first sip. He does make good coffee, and when I sighed deeply and closed my eyes for a second, I knew he smiled despite himself.

"About all these…people with you."

There we were. I leaned back on my chair and attempted to smile sincerely.

"Certainly, Uncle, but do sit down, please." He reluctantly obeyed; he was not looking forward to this either. Yet I could see in the defiant set of his jaw that he meant it, this time. Oh my. "Now, what seems to be the problem this time?" I was glad I grabbed my coin purse when I left my room. This was shaping up to be one of those conversations when I probably had to use it. "I know I have to pay for the two extra persons that I brought back with me…room and board, but I thought maybe we could work something out, what with one of them being a bard… Perhaps he can chip in with some entertainment?"

Duncan shook his head.

"That's not just it, lass." He had this pinched look on his face that I already learned to associate with a severe hangover. Uh-oh. Sand had not delivered one of his miracle cures, apparently, and this probably did not improve on my uncle's morning. "Your bard will be fine as long as he plays in evenings you are in town. He's a gnome so he won't eat too much. And the other gentleman was already down here, paid a week ahead, took breakfast and went to look after his horse." Duncan sniffed. "A fine horse, that one is."

"Elbriel? Yes, sure. "I said absent-mindedly. I had a food stain on one of my cuffs which meant I had to do laundry today, as this was my last shirt. Argh. "Wait- you mean he _paid_ you already?"

"He sure did; room and board, full price too. A real gentleman, he is." Duncan nodded approvingly. "Quiet-like…but I suppose that's his way, what with being a paladin and all…" He noticed the light in my eyes, because he hastened to add: "Present comp'ny excepted, of course."

"Thanks, Uncle. "I murmured. He really did not have to rub that one in. With only Aevan, the one-eyed wandering paladin who passed through West Harbor twice a year to show as my teacher, I was painfully aware of how much of a hedge-job I was.

"I'll be sure to take lessons from him, then. However, if this is neither about Master Grobnar, nor Sir Casavir, what can I do for you?"

"It's those urchins, lass." He shook his head. "Why on earth you told them they can live in my stables?"

I swallowed. I had almost utterly forgotten about that promise I made to Wolf, the sad-eyed child leader of his tiny gang of homeless urchins. It happened right before we headed out of town, and was not exactly on my mind while crawling in orc-infested canyons or hacking at troll-limbs. I was left staring at Uncle Duncan for a second like an idiot.

"Look, Uncle… it's not that there are many of them," I started.

"Six." he nodded. "Six of them, and let me tell you, they are…"

"Well, what? " I defiantly started back at him. "Did they torch your place?"

"Well, no, but…"

"Are they keeping your stables in order?"

"Yes they do but…"

"Are they running as messengers, doing shopping for the kitchen, let you know if they spot a cutpurse walking in to your inn, sweep your doorstep, that kind of thing?"

"Well, yes, they do, but…"

"Then they kept their end of the bargain. What seems to be the problem?" I leaned forward so that he can see just how serious I was about this. "Duncan, those kids were being abused and beaten every day by the gangs. I've seen their injuries. There is an eight-year old girl amongst them, Vana, I am sure you recall her. She was burned on her arms, thighs and worse places when she would not hand over the purse she picked after almost three days without food, by one of Moire's thugs. I'll spare you more details as I know you've seen a lot here, and I am aware they might not be the sweetest smelling kids of the noble-born, but this is the Docks. I know they are not lily white innocents, either, but they had to stay alive somehow. Wolf promised me that they won't steal a thing if we let them stay here. That probably means they just eat twice as much as normal kids would and squirrel away loaves of bread and some apples because they still think tomorrow they will be back on the streets." I shrugged. "I am an officer in the Watch, Uncle. I clear up the streets of this city in the best ways possible. And you know, I don't think in this case there was another solution that would have let me walk the path I do." I raised my hand.. "I thought they earned their keep here as per my agreement with Wolf, but since you are my kin and you seem not to think so, I am willing to talk money."

"You shame me, dammit," Duncan murmured. "How do you do that? You are barely out of diapers, you're barely in this city for a month, and you already know more about it than I ever bothered to learn…and you have a way with your words no kin of mine ever had."

"Maybe that is because I am just foster-kin, Uncle." I sighed and pulled my purse from my belt. "And since no one ever tells me anything about my real parents, I have no way of knowing." That was an understatement. My foster-father, Daeghun made it a lifelong pursuit not to say anything about my mother or father, so much so that in West Harbor it was considered an art form…especially after he _almost_ managed to beat up Aevan, my teacher, when he asked him about it. He had good reasons to want to know; I had some rather unusual talents manifesting with the onset of puberty, which is when he started teaching me. There was a rather tense exchange of words, I am told, and it actually came to blows, but no one knew about the outcome. The one-eyed paladin just showed up the next day a bit of a limp, while my foster-father carried himself stiffly for about a week, like his ribs were cracked.

"So, what would you call a fair contribution, in addition to what those kids are already saving you?" I asked, trying to ignore the warm feeling in my stomach.

He had just complimented me more than my foster-father ever, ever had, in all my years living under his roof. After that, it was only a brief haggle over the price. Duncan could be persuaded to understand compassion and charity to a certain degree, but first and foremost, he was an innkeeper. He had a bottom line he needed to constantly keep an eye on.

With a lighter purse but much lighter heart, I headed over to the stables after finally getting my breakfast. I wanted to see if any of the kids were around to let them know that their status as Irregulars at the Inn was heretofore official. Unfortunately, it seemed they all left for some errands. There was only the smell of hay and straw, horse and leather, and the occasional thud of a hoof or a snort. I peeked at my mare, Lorra, who was placidly passing time, her mane already combed, her flanks shiny, almost all of the traces of our long travels gone. Apparently, Wolf and his minions were hard at work very early this morning, as it was still just after dawn. I always got up early because the morning devotions of Tyr's servants were rather elaborate, and I had yet to complete the last step, the arms practice. I headed towards the back door, twisting the knots of my weapon-belt into place, and as soon as I stepped out to the tight little courtyard I understood where all the urchins went.

My new companion was hard at work already. In the total silence that ruled, I could clearly hear the _swoosh-swoosh_ sound his perfectly aligned blade made as he went through the six guards and the eight postures, flowing almost effortlessly from one into the other.

I dropped my equipment bag from my shoulder and started to pull out pieces of my armor. Two of the kids finally noticed me, closed their mouths and trotted over.

"Hello there, Wolf." I said. "Having fun this early in the morning? Thanks for taking care of Lorra, great job."

"No problem, lady," He grinned. "This new man you brought to town, he's really good. Is he a paladin, too?"

I nodded, with decidedly less enthusiasm than him. I had to admit, as I fussed with the buckles and plates and making sure my hair stayed out of the way (Wolf and the other kid tried to assist, with more or less success, as they still kept one eye on him), that his form was perfect. But then again, as I've seen him doing this for real quite a number of times last week, I already knew that. The precision and economy of his movements, the alignment of the blade, the way he used his ribcage and hips to drive the moves…No wonder those orcs thought he was an avenging spirit-possessed warrior. The way he lost himself in the lethal dance of killing, becoming an extension of his weapon, the will of Tyr that drove the blade to restore balance…

I shook my head. There I was, dwelling on the deeper mysteries of the god when I was barely competent to wield a sword in His name…Another visit to the church in the Merchant District was due for me, it seemed, long hours of contemplation in front of His altar asking for forgiveness and His grace so I can be worthy of the enormous burdens He deemed me worthy to bear. Brother Hlam will surely be able to guide me.

The last piece of plate in place, I made the sign of the sword on my forehead, murmured a quick invocation to clear my mind, and started to run through the stances to be ready.

There was just enough space on the courtyard for the two of us, with Wolf and his minions by the stable door, crouching in the sand. The first rays of the sun started to peek over the roof, tentatively warming the air.

I sped up, as the familiar feel of the god's time invaded my mind. It made everything seem slower, as if the world was stuck in mud and my blade drew me upwards, out of it. If I followed its rhythmic, soothing silver sound, it kept me afloat and safe, guiding me on the path I had to walk. I knew that my movements came faster and faster to anyone watching, like the killing dance, the footsteps of which I was drawing on the sand and in the air almost out of control…and yet it never did. Under the surface of the silver-and-crimson blur of my aura, I was calm, collected and focused, my soul singing the morning hymn of Tyr without words, the plainchant of the light of righteousness in the darkness of injustice, while my lips hummed the same chords.

With the last note, held high it the air, the tip of my weapon in the last position above my head and ready for the killing stroke, it came to an end. I was back in the courtyard, in the sand; the sun was above the rooftop now, shining with the morning brilliance of a thousand mornings just like this. My breath was coming hard, but evenly, and I barely broke a sweat, which made me absurdly happy. I was slowly making progress.

"Whoever taught you that, my lady?" I jerked fully out of the trance now. No one, ever, ever in my life had called me 'my lady' before I met him.

He stood before me, with his sword carefully wrapped and held by his side, as per regulations when not in use. He regarded me with his head slightly tilted to the side, just like when we met the first time. And just like then, it felt as if the edge of a huge, tempest-filled blue-and-silver cloud brushed against me, against my aura. His colors in that realm were silver and blue, like mine were silver and crimson. The joint pressure of the two auras caused considerable discomfort to my tiefling traveling companion, however much she insisted that she had no problems with mine.

"What do you mean? " I let my weapon down to my side, walked to the side where a hay bale served as my usual resting place after these morning exercises, and sat. "I am going through the morning devotions, as I was taught by my teacher…you have seen me doing it during our travels together enough times."

He shook his head, almost impatient.

"Pardon me for saying so, but you are not, my lady." He inclined his had. "May I…?"

I stifled a sigh. Formalities, again. He was shrouded in them, this paladin; and wore them like a cloak around his broad shoulders.

"Sure." I indicated the remaining side of the hay bale. He sat, placing his weapon next to him with great care.

"I watched you." he began slowly. "It was different, this time."

"I did not feel any different." I said; I knew I sounded defensive. "Am I…doing something wrong?"

"Not wrong, no." His voice was deep, thoughtful, and contemplative, and very soothing. "I am aware that there are different schools of interpretation regarding how these exercises can be performed." Well, _I_ wasn't, so that was already new for me. But then again, he was probably dedicated to the god since childhood and raised in a chapterhouse, from what I could deduce from his ways. It only stood to reason he knew everything there ever was to know about matters of devotion. "There were…lectures included on them in our chapterhouse." Yep, I was right. "The way you usually practice conforms pretty closely to Standard Neverwinter practice, also known as the Even Path…if I remember right you told me your teacher came from the city?"

I nodded. Sir Aevan was an errant knight of Tyr, wandering to our village one bright spring morning, watching Bevil and I beating up each other with tree branches on Retta's field. Then, coming up behind us so quietly that we did not realize he was there, he grabbed my shoulder from behind…and had to stifle a surprised and painful cry as the first defensive flare of my powers burned through his thick glove, faster than I, spinning around, could drive the tree branch into his stomach. I was twelve.

"He did… So, you say that I did something different today?" I leaned back and closed my eyes. My bruises were still making me stiffer than usual, and the warm sunlight and the smell of hay was very soothing, almost cozy. The waking sounds of the inn slowly filled the quiet around us, and I noticed that Wolf's kids started to evaporate after watching us. The fun was over, and they had to earn their keep. I was impressed by this apparent display of responsible behavior, and smiled to myself, settling into the hay a bit more comfortably.

"My lady… Am I boring you?" I heard it next to me. Oh, no. I did it for real this time.

"I am sorry, Sir Knight." I opened my eyes and tried to keep my voice sincere. "I had no intention of giving offense…I am simply enjoying the sun and the peace that was not available to me for a while, and in giving myself to this, I for a moment ignored your presence. If you could forgive me…"

"There was no offense." He looked at me again, with that intense azure gaze of his, that never showed anything else but carefully measured calm, or the silver battle cloud of Tyr's holy warrior. "I am simply unwilling to disturb you if…additional contemplation is called for. What you did today…" He stopped, as if thoughtfully measuring his following words. "We had some…old texts in the library. Not at the chapterhouse; in my father's house. My family collected books."

His family must have been rich, then. I did not have any of my own, until Aevan gave me an old hymnal of his that I still kept in my pack. In West Harbor, one did not have much time for reading except for the long, dark hours of winter, and for that, my foster-father measured out his few books very, very carefully. By the end of my time there, I could recite almost all of them by memory.

"That book was one about the legends of the god's warriors of old." I was not sure where he was going with this. "It discussed a path of devotions in detail, the one called The Path of the Silver Fire. It had descriptions, and illuminations…Illustrations." He looked at me intently. "You performed the Path of the Silver Fire exercises this morning, my lady, exactly to the letter, and yet you say you did not know?"


	2. You Have Been Drifting For So Long

-1**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**Disclaimers:**

**As you probably already guessed after the first chapter, English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections.**

**There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things. **

**I write to music; there is a soundtrack to each of these chapters. In case anyone is interested, this one had Lorena McKennitt's _La Serenissima_ and Sarah Mclachan's _Drifting_ playing.**

**Chapter Two: You Have Been Drifting For So Long**

We argued all the way back to the common room.

"No, I had no idea." I raised my voice, irritated. "Why would you think that I…?'

"Forgive me, my lady, I meant no offense." he said tersely, and I could see his shoulders bunching up. "But it bears no argument. I know these matters, forgive my bluntness, better than you do, and there is no question that you did not…"

"Oh, right." I threw up my hands. "_Now_ we have arrived to the crux of the matter. _You_ know these things. Of course you do, you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth, probably had lace on your diapers and they sang entire hymnals over you before you even learned to walk. I know I am only a country bumpkin who is probably the laughingstock of the Order, with no known parentage or fancy coat-of-arms…" I pushed the door open and marched in, throwing the words back at him like poisoned darts, "… but making fun of me just because I botched some steps in an exercise after a rather tiresome series of events up to and including saving your and your companions'… Uh-oh."

Of course, everyone was looking at us at this point. The common room was not too crowded at this early hour, but everyone from my company was present, with a couple of others. As I stopped my angry stride dead center of the room, I could almost see the sickly green glow of my words in the air. I was, suddenly and with crystal clarity, painfully aware that what I said was entirely out of line, malicious, capricious, and purposefully hurting.

"I am an ass." I said, with feeling. "Look, Sir Casavir, I am…I did not…I…" I _really_ needed some of Elanee's concoctions to calm me down. This was a bad cycle.

"Of no matter, my lady. " He shook his head, but would not look me in the eye. "There is…some truth in what you said. My…family is…_was_ one of…"

"Wow, Rig…!" That was Neeshka, as usual, her words accompanied by a long whistle. "That was almost as good as…"

"_Not. Now_." I turned towards her, and I think I showed some teeth because she lifted her hands in front of her, defensively.

"Okay, okay, never mind…!" she squealed. "And just for the record, your aasimar really shows right now!"

"Sorry!" Sometimes I really underestimate the effect I have on her, mainly because she tries really hard not to be bothered by it.

I sat down heavily at the first available table, not even looking around. I felt, rather than saw the blue-and-silver aura tentatively settling down next to me. I buried my face in my hands and let out a deep sigh.

"If you decide to pack up and leave…"I said between my fingers, "since I insulted your good word, your family and your honor, Sir Knight, you have every right."

"I do not take my vows lightly, my lady." he said, after a little silence. I took my hands away and looked up at him. He looked very serious. "You saved my life, and I owe that to you. Until I have a chance to repay you, I will be at your side." A cloud passed over his face that I could not place. "And maybe beyond."

The tension that was almost palpable in the room eased up; the silver-and-blue pressure against my skin dissolving into the air. I did not realize I was holding my breath until now.

"I am not sure why you decided to hitch your horse to this cart…" I said, still not quite believing I let my emotions run my mouth for me there, "However, the sword cuts both ways. Henceforth, while you are with us, you have my permission to smack me if I ever behave like that with you again." Disbelief mixed with apprehension started to spread on his face. Clearly, this was not a normal apology he'd have expected in a situation like this, but then again, I was not the usual paladin companion from his chapterhouse either. "It was inexcusable, childish and petty, and I will take the due penance for it by holding a vigil tonight in the temple. Until then, however, I think I owe you the courtesy of an answer about my upbringing, education and suchlike, given that you seem to think I possess some powers that I am clearly not aware of."

"You are one of the planetouched." he said –was that a shiver of reverence crossing his face there? Can he be _that_ devout? I was told by Aevan that I undeniably had some blood of the celestial sphere. Anyone could see that, he told me, who studied the way he did. I had imperial purple eyes with a focused glaze that could strike some as too intense, long-limbed nervous body that was prone to excessive clumsiness in one second and utter grace and sinuousness in the next, and my hair, that I normally hid in a severe bun, played in the three colors of gold: white, yellow and red. I heard that some of the holy warriors held beings such as me in the highest reverence, worship, even. "Surely, your teacher, or your father must have told you…"

"Foster-father." I said. "Duncan's brother. Just to be precise. And yes, of course…it is hard not to, when you are, since age four, the one asked by your friends to go with them every time they need to go down to the cellar to get something, so they are not scared in the dark. "_You glow…" _they say. "_You make me feel safe_" they say. So Daeghun and Brother Merring had a talk with me rather early on. Brother Merring is the only priest in my village. Lathander's." I added. "That was before Aevan came, and spotted my birthmarks."

His eyebrows went up, questioningly.

I did not like talk about it; it embarrassed me, frankly, from very early on.

"Well, I was kind of mocked because of them at first. You know how kids can get with someone who is different, sometimes." That was put mildly…I took to never showing my shoulders in public after that incident with the Mossfelds. "Then I was just…"I shrugged. "I figured it comes with the blood, but since I've never met anyone like me, it was hardly a question to ask or get answers to. All Aevan said was that they were clearly the god's marks on me dedicating me to His service."

His intense blue gaze was on me fully now: It felt like little silver sparks were prickling my skin.

"I am making you uncomfortable." he said quietly. I was startled; yes, this was not an easy conversation…but it still surprised me just how well he sensed my moods. It takes one paladin to figure out another, I guess—but then, why was he still a completely closed book to me? "I am sorry, my lady. Perhaps another time." He stood up, carefully sliding his chair back in place. "Do let me know if there is anything you require from me while we tarry here…"

"I…need to go to make my report to Captain Brelaina today," I said, and absurdly felt like a coward for not staying with him.

"Surely you won't need me for that." His face was hard, now. "If you don't mind, my lady, I would prefer not to…make my return to the city wildly known."

"Really?" _Great_, just great; I was full of witty repartee today. "I thought…this was your home."

"I used to live in Neverwinter, yes." He was halfway turning away, clearly indicating that our conversation was at its end. It was strange; this was about the closest he ever came to being rude. And just when his past life came up. "And now, if you will excuse me, my lady…"

I still stared after him deep in thoughts when Neeshka came over and took his place.

"When you finished drooling…"she said in a slightly reproachful voice, "I need to talk to you about something."

"When I…what?"

"Come on, Arrighan, don't tell me you didn't wonder what might be underneath that full plate? It was _all_ over your face…" She grinned.

"Neesh!" I was utterly scandalized for a long moment. "For pity's sake, girl, I do not drool over men, especially not…"

"Ah-ha." She said triumphantly. "You blushed."

"Did not."

"Did too." She stuck her tongue out. "It's just funny, I've never seen you look at someone like that. Paladins, eh? Nevermind…"she said quickly; I think I growled. "We'll talk about it later when you are not…"

"WHAT do you want to talk about?" I think I got a bit loud there. "Sorry, Neesh, but you are getting on my nerves today."

"Aura itching, eh? "

"You have _no_ idea." I said, truthfully. Paladins never lie.

"I knew it…" She grinned again: the freckles around her delicate nose were dancing. "Anyhow…I was going to go and do some…um, shopping, I guess, and I was wondering if you wanted to come with me?"

"What, you need someone to make sure your hands don't stray?" I winked.

"You are besmirching my good name." she said with a sniff. "You could not stop me if you'd tried…but no. El and I need some supplies, and…well, it would be just bad form if we'd run out without asking you."

"That's awfully nice of you two." I shook my head: the mental image of the always calm and perfectly groomed elven druidess and the always slightly rumpled but very pretty tiefling rogue wondering around the Merchant District was rather disturbing. "I need to do some laundry today, plus that report needs to get done to Brel…"

"Why? You can just buy more shirts, and pay one of Wolf's kids to do your laundry." Neeshka waved dismissively. "You support the local economy with your hard-earned gold pieces and give opportunity to an urchin to prove they can do real work as well." She stood up and grabbed my hand. "Come on, come on, I know this shopkeeper who has the best silk this side of Faerun…you never felt anything on your skin like this before."

"I tell you what." I half let her drag me towards the door; I realized this was an honest offer and an honest asking for my company. It was not often I could use truth-sensing, but sometimes Tyr blessed me enough to grant me a glimpse, and lately the occasions were becoming more frequent. "If you two accompany me to the City Watch building, we can take care of the irksome duties first, and then we'd be free to roam in search of silk shirts, colorful ribbons, stinky herbs and whatever else we require to have a leisurely day in the City that we all, no doubt, could use."

"I knew it." Neeshka made a face. "You and your skill with words…Very well, since you asked so nicely, and since I'd not really mind if you weren't distracted while we are shopping, we can do the ugly part first."

"Why am I not supposed to be…what was the word, distracted?" I was immediately suspicious. "Where are we going?"

"I told you: El needs some herbs, I need some little stuff, and you need some clothes." Yes, there was something there…but I also knew by long experience with her that if I kept pressing, she just buttoned up and I'd get it even worse. Better if I just let her give me into whatever relatively survivable mischief she was planning. It was irritating, but I actually quite liked her—she reminded me of Amie, my lost friend back in West Harbor, first victim of the chase after whatever I was carrying that brought me all the way here to this strange city. And it made Neeshka so happy, to play these jokes on me, so as long as there was no harm in it, I let her have her way.

Except when her feud with Leldon was involved, I had to remind myself, so I had to ask.

"Neesh…this hopefully has nothing to do with your rival for the Greatest Thief in Neverwinter title, right? Because if it has, you know where I stand." I tried to put all the weight of my status as a holy warrior into my words. "When he tries to kill you and those around you, including me, that's one thing. But I am not going to back you up, if…"

"Hey, hey, HEY!" Her voice got higher and higher. I sighed. Here we were again: I swear to myself I won't get prying and then I say something after all that trips her wires. Me, the aasimar, she, the tiefling. We ought to sell tickets, as Khelgar suggested once. "I told you this will be a friggin' shopping trip, no more…Sheesh, Rig, can you just lighten up a bit?"

"Not in the package." I turned and started towards the steps, my room. "I need to get myself ready, Neesh. A visit to our Dread Captain of the Watch, then seeing what the market has to offer. This requires careful preparations. Meet you two here in a few."

Honestly, Brelaina proved to be the easiest part of the day. She was brusque but carefully spoken as usual… and surprisingly thankful, which was a first. Up till now, all I got from her is how I could have done even better.

"Your efforts in rescuing the Waterdeep emissary at Old Owl Well and preventing the orc tribes from re-organizing have proven to be vital for securing the trade routes of our city." she said; as always, she sounded like she was having a speech at court. I suspected she was going for a promotion soon: she never did strike me as a career Watchman. "For this, you have earned our gratitude." Her brows drew down before she continued, and I knew there was an inevitable 'but' coming, with yet more things to do for me as her newest lieutenant.

"She gave you the speech there, didn't she?" Cormick caught up with us as we took the stairs from the Captain's office downstairs. "So where do you need to dash off this time, eh?"

Marshal Cormick was a Harborman, like me. He had the ruddy hair, build, voice and complexion to declare it to the world, too. Normally, I would have appreciated that, but right now, it just made my stomach ache with longing for my home so much that when I looked at him, he took two steps back.

"Easy, there, lass." He said, with his hands up in the air. "I am no orc to chop up…"

"I know that, Marshal." I sighed. "I just hoped for a nice quiet week after my recent encounter with said orcs. Instead, I need to visit some ship that docks tomorrow." It was a Luskan ship to boot, but there was no need to spread operational details of a secret assignment, not even to a fellow officer and compatriot. I learned fast in this role.

"Assessment of back taxes, my favorite." Cormick mock shuddered. "No doubt."

"Indeed." I nodded. We both knew that was not the case, but he had been in this long enough to know the game, and, like I said, I learn fast.

We kept up a pleasant and empty chatter for a while, just in case there were still some infiltrators of Moire's now defunct gang or Luskan around (you never knew, that was also one of the things I learned) then I excused myself and went to collect my companions in the front room. I was slightly worried about how some of the younger Watchmen might react to them. Cormick said he was due to write some reports anyway, so he headed that way with me too.

As I closed the door to the stairs behind us and looked around, I realized that my fears were, at least in part, justified. Elanee was chatting with the Watch healer on duty, which was pretty normal. She was making little notes on a piece of parchment. I assumed she got recommendations for some herb shops, recipes to cure hangover or broken noses, or all of the above. _Neeshka_, on the other hand, was playing dice with some off-duty officers at a table in the corner, and judging by the smug expression on her face and the little pile of coins in front of her, she was having a field day.

I cleared my throat loudly, right behind them. Of course it was the youngest one, sitting right next to Neeshka, who dropped the dice and jumped up, red as a beetroot. All right, then.

"As you were, officers," I said crisply. "You are off shift, after all." I stared at my tiefling, who stared back at me, defiantly. Oh, I had her. Staring I could do all day, if needed. "I, however, need to get moving and so do my aides." I flicked a hand at the little pile of coins. "I am assuming that goes to the widows' fund, correct?"

"Aww, Rig, really…" she started, but I turned up the intensity of my glare, and that cut her off quick enough. I did not enjoy this, and I understood she could not resist (not to mention she needed the practice), but these were Watchmen, dammit.

"Am I correct, Officer?" I turned to the young fellow next to her, who by now was rather pale.

"Yes, sir…"he managed to squeeze out, avoiding looking at me. "A charity game."

"Most excellent." I nodded towards the rest of the table. "A commendable initiative, one that should, nevertheless, not be repeated too often. This is what the charity pot is for, and that's even anonymous. We should strive for modesty in all things." I glanced towards the duty officer's desk. Cormick was messing with some papers half-turned away, but I could see that his shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter. I might have been overdoing it a bit. "Whenever you are ready, Neeshka. Elanee…"

"You are SO not fun," Neeshka complained as we stepped out of the gloom of the Watch building to the bright sunshine of the city. Another gorgeous day I will have a hard time enjoying. "Why do you always have to be so stuck up?"

"Comes with the job, Neesh." I dodged a cart delivering some supplies to the next door establishment. "Seriously, could you have resisted doing what you were doing in there? No, you really don't have to answer that; that is called a rhetorical question. You cannot help trying to take people's money and I cannot help trying to stop you." I shrugged. "Like Khelgar says, we really need to sell tickets for this."

Elanee sighed.

"The problem is, we'd have a sellout in ten minutes." she said, which made both me and Neeshka turn and look at her with astonishment. "Most of the time you both can get away with what you do because you are…well…"she shrugged. "Let's face it, ladies, you are rather cute."

"Cute." I said, with my hands on my hips. I was wearing light armor, which for me means chain shirt, bracers and greaves, with my Watch cloak draped over everything and my sword rather visible on my side. I was just coming from report duty to my commanding officer, after all. "I can see you saying that about Neesh," I glanced at the tiefling in her tight-fitting leather outfit that emphasized her gracefulness, aided her movements and pretty much did not leave anything to then imagination, "But Elanee, I am a paladin of Tyr!" The god's holy symbol was hanging from my neck on its silver chain, sparkling in the morning sun. "We are _not_ supposed to be cute."

The druidess just kept smiling.  
"I rest my case." she said, and slightly inclined her head.

I turned.

I would not call it a crowd, but there were definitely men milling around on the small square where the Watch building was located who obviously had other things to do but chose to linger instead, stealing glances.

"Fine." I said, still defiantly. "All right. But it's the three of us, not just me. The least of it is me."

"Whatever you say, Rig." Neeshka caught my arm. "They are staring at us: at a goatgirl, a shining example of virtue and a mysterious elf lady. All alone in the middle of the Merchant's Quarter." She shivered. "The dangers we might be in!"

"Neesh, be reasonable." I said, a bit more relaxed. "I am wearing a Watch uniform."

"She is hopeless, El." The tiefling sighed. "I am trying all day to cheer her up and all she thinks about is her duties and tasks. Shall we ever take her with us again?"

"You fight dirty." I looked at her with a hurt expression on my face.

"Hey: remember- rogue?" she answered back, her eyes sparkling. "If you want to talk about smiting evil and doing good deeds for love and justice, either get back to that building behind us…"she jerked her head towards the Watch building, "or track down the man whose aura makes my skin itch but makes your breath speed up."

I knew I was not supposed to be blushing at that, but blush I did. I was not sure why. She was usually pretty perceptive, but…I barely knew the man for a week, and here, Neeshka was making the second remark today indicating that I reacted to his presence much more strongly than to any other…

The temple tonight, definitely. The more I thought about it, the less I liked the thought, but the fact remained, and needed to be contemplated upon, while kneeling in the dark coolness of Tyr's sanctuary. I needed to know if it was merely the fact that I was a healthy young woman, who for an entire week had shared hardship, cold food, campfire, and enemies who wanted to kill without hesitation, with a naturally attractive male of similar convictions and rather broad shoulders and disturbingly beautiful azure eyes and finely curving lips, and…

I shook my head. I really, really had to talk to Elanee about some tea.

"Can we just go and take care of shopping, please? "I was surprised how dull my voice sounded. "If I recall, there were some herbs and some clothes…"

The herbalist's shop was fairly near, and Elanee had a list, being the organized, neat elf that she was. I took the opportunity and when Neeshka was busy peeking at a nearby stand, I asked her in a whisper if she could also recommend some herbs for me.

She regarded me with one of her more sympathetic gazes.

"Yes, of course, Arrighan." she said after a brief silence. "This adventuring life is hard on women, and your path is especially trying. I will make something for you." She lifted her hand. "No need for thanks and no need for feeling embarrassed. I am of a mind to kick myself for not thinking about it earlier, anyway. You are so young, and sometimes you are too hard on yourself." She turned away, and started to browse amongst the shelves of a hundred canvas bags with their aromatic contents. "And don't forget to ask me again for a…different kind of tea if the time comes…"she added, with a smile on her lips that reminded me that of Neeshka's. I sighed. Why is it that everyone was looking out for me _that way_ all of a sudden?

Sometimes I tended to forget that Elanee was almost a hundred years old, and that she acted kind of like a self-imposed guardian over me during my childhood and teenage years in the Mere. I did not think she could get away with it without Daeghun, at least, knowing that she was around…but maybe she did. My druid companion was uncannily good at making people forget she was there.

With that pressing concern of mine out of the way, and one of my companions content with a task I gave her, it was time to face whatever mischief Neeshka was planning for me, because I had no doubts that she had something more in store for me than merely browsing for silk shirts.

The merchant in question was located on a quiet, unassuming street close to the locked-down Blacklake District entrance. That in itself might have been a warning sign for the kind of clientele it normally attracted, which probably on normal days did not include Watchmen in stained shirts and _maille_, druidesses with twenty little bags hanging from their belts and tieflings in tight-fitting leather.

The merchant took a look at us as we entered and got that special look on his face that I long learned to associate with people who had been around nobility way too much. His shop was all understated simplicity, light touches of cream-colored drapes with traces of gold filigree on gracefully carved tables where bolts of satin, cendal and velvet were artificially strewn on top of each other. Even I could recognize that _this_ particular shop normally would have been way out of the league of someone from West Harbor.

Except that I was now one of those who could afford to shop here and this made me a customer, not a gawker.

I took a deep breath. I could do this; just today, I was brushing shoulders with someone who, if my senses were right, will be one of the Neverwinter Nine in about five years, if not sooner.

"It's me, Hassim." Neeshka almost danced as she grinned at the merchant. "Hopefully you still recognize me."

"Haunting my dreams, still," he murmured. "A rare pleasure to have you back here, flower of Neverwinter's nights." And he bowed, his arms crossed on his chest, in the manner of Rashemen.

"I noticed you almost threw us out first." Neeshka stated, matter-of-factly, then. "If I'd been in your dreams all this time, you would have let me walk on your most precious silk so my feet don't trod on stone, as opposed to contemplating calling in your henchmen."

"Please forgive me, rosy-cheeked daughter of dawn. Your servant is getting old, and his eyes are growing tired of empty smiles, his ears deaf from vapid chatter of the nobles of this city who only care about whether a fabric costs more than one a rival's garment is made of, as opposed to appreciating the true art that lies in how the light breaks on the gold that is woven into gentle threads of silk." This Hassim had a way with words even I could appreciate. His jet-black eyes considered us all, and they settled on my face. "If you would not mind, oh bird of Paradise, please do me the honor of being introduced to your companions."

"Ah. Right." Neeshka giggled. "Ladies, this is Hassim of Rashemen, who owes me big, for services rendered best left out of this tale, considering…" she stole a glance at me, "Well, considering." I understood; they had some shadowy dealings in the past when Neeshka moved up on the ladder of Neverwinter's criminal ranks. "Hassim, meet Elanee of the Mere and Arrighan Pendwyr, formerly of West Harbor."

"An officer of the Watch, and servant of Tyr at the same time, now." Hassim repeated his previous bow, his eyes never leaving my face. "I am deeply honored."

"We thank you." I nodded, feeling a bit uncomfortable for all the staring. "Neeshka here tells me you have silks such as nowhere else in this city, and that I wanted to see."

"The Lady of Silent Steps is flattering her humble servant." he murmured and bowed again. "I take pride in what I built here, and would be twice-honored if you three care to take a look at what I have to offer." He clapped his hands together, and three liveried servants just…materialized out of the corners.

This merchant was good. I started to get impressed, despite myself, and a knot in the middle of my stomach eased up a little bit. I took a seat on a rather comfortable, pillow-strewn sofa where Hassim indicated, my two companions next to me, and looked expectantly at him.

"As you probably guessed by now, I have no need of anything courtly. However, if you carry something suitable for gear that lasts through the trials of the road…"

"Say no more, Lady of Shining Justice." The merchant held up a hand. "Hassim would be proud if you would take a look at some of his silks. Contrary to what some of the courtly damas believe, silk is not their exclusive privilege for flimsy garments or bedsheets. My people found out a long time ago that even armor can benefit from being combined with this fabric."

"Surely not…" Elanee interjected, clearly intrigued. "Silk is too thin…"

"Ah, Lady of the Forests…" smiled Hassim while his servants appeared again, with bolts carried on their arms like fields of flowers, "therein lies the rub, as they would say here in the fair city of Neverwinter. Rashemen silk can be woven into many thicknesses, it is extremely versatile. It can be whisper-light to adorn a lady's delicate head, or sturdy to rival fustian or even wool." His hands were tracing invisible patterns in the air. "Some of the tribes in my homeland indeed, wear armor made of several quilted layers of silk enhanced with the magic of my people."

I leaned forward.

"Fascinating. " I said, and I meant it. I was always ready to learn more, and this discussion, besides being a good distraction from all my present worries, clearly was much more interesting than I originally expected. "So you are saying that what you can show me will make better traveling clothes than anything else? You make a bold claim."

"I would not presume to lie to a holy warrior of the Lord of Justice." he said seriously, but with a faint smile on his lips. I had to realize that he was younger than I thought; the huge white turban and thick beard deceived me at first. "Best if you see it for yourself." He clapped his hands again for his servants.

"What I am showing to you would not get in front of my…regular customers. These are not…ornate enough for their taste, and thus would, frankly, be wasted on them." He looked at Neeshka, who nodded, smiling. "I, however, maintain a…very select group of clientele who could benefit from these."

I nodded. That explained how he and Neeshka got acquainted, most likely. Any magically enhanced fabric would have been a hot commodity in the shadow-world of Neverwinter, obviously. I was glad she was not there any more—and I had no intentions of letting her slide back, however much she protested my efforts.

"Let me see your recommendations, then." I said. "We are looking into properly outfitting all three of us…if I like what you have, possibly more."

Elanee looked at me with surprise.

"Arrighan, you should not…"she started, but I shook my head.

"You two dragged me with you, now suffer the consequences. There is no argument." I smiled.

"Don't do that." Neeshka said with a shudder.

"Do what?"

"Don't smile like that." she said, serious all of a sudden. "You know how itchy I get from holiness…and right now, you are making me…"

That's how far she got before the door chime above the shop's door heralded the arrival of another customer. As I looked up, I seriously thought I was having a vision from all the talk we had today.

Hassim turned too, with the practiced ease of his trade.

"Ah!" His bow was deeper than the one he accorded to us, and more elaborate. "My lord of Kor…"

"We can dispense with long formalities and titles no longer in use." He was also wearing only _maille_ instead of his full plate, but that just emphasized how broad his shoulders were. His deep voice was cold and formal, one used to command. "I am merely here to take the…"

"Of course, m'lord." Hassim stole a glance back at us. "I kept everything you entrusted me safe. However, if you would not mind according me some time to conduct my current

clients through our discussion of their purchases…We have a waiting room just over that curtain there, if you recall."

He nodded, politely inclining his head—I did not think he quite realized who we were yet…that hit him about two heartbeats later, when he actually looked.

There was this moment of awkward, utter silence that was at the same time so full of questions and possibilities that the air in the shop seemed to thicken visibly.

"Perhaps I'll come back another time, Hassim." He turned, put his hand on the door handle. "Send a runner of yours to the Sunken Flagon at the Docks where I currently take rooms."

"O-o-o, not so fast, you." Neeshka stood up and I could see by the twitching of her nose that she smelled trouble, mystery and intrigue, all almost intoxicating to a tiefling. "Doesn't your chivalry command that you offer your company and protection to three unescorted ladies back to their lodgings across the perils of city streets?" I could practically see her little horns twitching from excitement. "Or would you risk us falling into the hands of some foul…"

"Neeshka, enough." I stood up, too, squaring my shoulders against the inevitable. "My companion was jesting, Sir Casavir." I added, with a formal nod of the equals in Tyr. "I do believe we are capable of taking care of ourselves. It is, however, unexpected to meet you here…"

"My lady." Another stiff, formal bow, with nothing in the azure eyes. "I was not aware you were planning on visiting merchants today, otherwise I would surely have offered my escort."

Hassim darted quick, interested glances between us, but did not interrupt. I started to feel myself like I was in one of those prized and read-to-death romances my friend Amie liked to recite from constantly. We certainly talked like those knights and ladies in them, for sure. How far I've come from arguing with pig farmers over the price of a yearling sow…

"Of no matter…" I sat back on the sofa. "Now that we've met, surely you won't deprive us of your company?"

"Oh, that was cruel, Rig…"Neeshka whispered so he could not hear. "I am impressed…"

Yes, he was clearly uncomfortable; I had never seen him this formal, not even when we first met. Granted, at that point we both were covered in orc blood and bits, so that should have hardly counted.

But there was something haunted, something dark, something not quite fitting in this meeting, in him being here, in the way Hassim greeted him in a way that was due to a highborn noble, that unspoken family name or title… The fact that he had some things to retrieve from a silk merchant that he might have left here a rather long time ago…

I arranged myself a bit more comfortably amongst the pillows. Yes, there was definitely something not right. And I had to get to the bottom of it relatively quickly. I had way too many things to worry about already. My little band of companions was growing; I needed their help, just like they counted on me. Anyone who hitched their horse to my cart I was responsible for, but at the same time, I expected them not to keep secrets back that can put me or any others in danger. Neeshka and I had to have this conversation not too long ago…and now, in the direction least expected, another of those loomed.

This was going to be a long day.


	3. The Heart That Hurts

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**Disclaimers:**

**As you probably already guessed after the first chapter, English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections.**

**There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things. **

**I write to music; there is a 'soundtrack' to each of these chapters. In case anyone is interested, this one's included _O Quanta Qualia_ as performed by Azam Ali—a rendition of a 12th c. medieval hymn by Pierre Abelard. I used a 19th-century English adaptation of the original Latin in the chapter throughout, with some additional, shameless alterations of mine. The second piece that helped and the text of which I used was that of Hildegard von Bingen, the 12th c. visionary, called _O ignis spiritus paracliti_, as sung by the group Anonymous 4. I humbly ask for forgiveness, but these are such beautiful pieces of music I just had to have them. The third piece was U2's _One Step Closer_, oddly enough, but it fit perfectly.**

**Chapter 3- The Heart That Hurts Is A Heart That Beats**

By the time I made it to the temple the evening service was already under way. I slipped through the door as quietly as I could; and thanks to the well-oiled hinges, none of the resident brothers already in the pews looked up as I made my way to the side chapel of the nave where traditionally those kneeled who held solitary vigil. Prior Hlam and two sisters were at the altar, their voices raised in front of the god's statue, the melody punctuated by their hand bells.

_Blessing and honor and glory and power,  
Wisdom and riches and strength evermore  
Give ye to Him Who our battle hath won  
Whose are the kingdom, the crown, and the throne._

That particular evensong always moved me almost to tears, ever since I first heard it sung by the rumbling basso voice of Aevan, my teacher. As I made the sign of the sword and kneeled down on the cold marble of the chapel, I regarded the friezes of the small altar in front of me. Wrought in pure silver, (some noble's donation, no doubt), they showed the god's battle against the Chaos Hound in which he lost his hand. His sacrifice was emphasized in the middle sculpture: this particular chapel was dedicated to Our Lord's Sufferings for the Justly Saved.

I had a long, cold night's vigil ahead of me, but I was used to it: Aevan always stressed to me that the path of a holy warrior is not all glory and soft cushions in palaces. I closed my eyes, linked my hands on the pommel of my sword, and let the voices answering each other in harmony wash over me.

_Soundeth the Heaven of the heavens with His Name;  
Ringeth Faerun with His glory and fame;  
Ocean and mountain, stream, forest, and flower  
Echo His praises and tell of His power._

Here in the god's temple was the finest singing I have ever heard: it always made me feel like I have _arrived_. There was no particular explanation and I did not seek one. I just tried to spend as much time here as I could in between assignments, although I did not have an opportunity for a true all-night vigil for quite a while. While Tyr's paladins encourage devotion, they are nothing if not practical: the traditional seven daily prayers of the clerics are compressed into morning and evening rites, and there is a possibility, in wartime, to make do with one per day.

_Past are the darkness, the storm, won is the war,  
Come is the radiance, that sparkles afar,  
Breaketh the gleam of the day without end,  
Riseth Justice that shall never descend._

As I was kneeling, I could not see the singers: in the gloom of the temple only their ethereal voices were heard, wafting on the wings of Tyr's frankincense, cedar-and sandalwood incense. The candles on the altar in front of me flickered almost in rhythm with their rising cadences: this evening was truly a blessing to end a day that threw my thoughts into such turmoil.

_Hassim's wares were truly amazing, and we three had actually a passable time choosing some bolts of fabric to be made into sensible traveling outfits: Elanee's choice fell on some deep forest greens with a rich wine-red border that accented the auburn of her hair nicely, while I hesitated between an autumn leaves-hued fabric with a diamond weave, and one that was a dark shade of evening sky so deep I expected to see the stars sparkle on its pile any moment. What with Neeshka already dead set on a surprisingly sensible dove-grey, it was my turn. I normally never had the luxury of actually considering the color of my clothes, let alone in such quality. One does not care about such things when harvesting swamp corn, wrestling pigs at killing time, or, more recently, wearing full plate decorated with the dust of the road, mud of swamps, and, most often, bloodstains. The only consideration is sturdiness and ease of cleaning, as I explained it to Hassim, who smiled, knowingly._

"_But of course, Sword of Justice." I was getting increasingly tired of these flowery titles he so carelessly threw about; I could see how this might have gone a long way with Neverwinter nobility, but to me it sounded just like useless flattery." Rashemen silk fulfills those two requirements perfectly, and these special bolts are even further enhanced with some enchantments."_

"_What, precisely, do you mean?" I threw a quick glance towards the curtain across us. This better to be over soon, I thought, otherwise I'll never convince our unwilling escort about me not really caring about worldly vanities. Casavir withdrew to the waiting room while we concluded our purchases: the set of his shoulders showed just as clear as if he'd told me in words how much he'd wished this encounter had never taken place, even though his voice and his manners were absolutely impeccable. "And speak plainly, please."_

_There must have been something on my face, because he considered me carefully before answering.  
"As you wish." I was relieved to hear he dispensed of any honorifics this time. His fingers gently tapped the bolt of evening-blue in front of me. "You probably already felt it, but let me be frank: have you not visited today, I would have sent this to the Temple of Tyr by the morning. Its enchantments are too strong for me to keep here." His dark eyes were serious now. ""Tis strange, that you and the Lord of …Sir Casavir…" he stumbled over the name," not only are here today, but that you travel together: both holy warriors, Tyr's chosen, in my humble establishment just when I happen to have this item in my possession." Although this hardly would have been considered 'frank' speech by my old, West Harbor standards, I suspected it was as plain as I could get from him, so I remained silent. "Clearly a sign…and as I am a pious man…" here Neeshka made a half-snorting, half-gagging sound, but Hassim kept going, "…I will make a gift of this to you. You already committed to more purchases than I have had this month from all of Neverwinter's high and mighty: since they locked down Blacklake, my visitors are few and far between. Let me…" he paused for a second, "let me fulfill an… obligation with this, so to speak." I saw Neeshka's almost unperceivable nod, and realized this was a closure to something old between those two. It hung in the air like a fine thread of gold for a second before dissipating with an almost audible sad little sound._

_I shook my head._

"_Provided I accept your gracious gift: can you be more precise about the nature of it?"_

"_The weavers of this fabric intended it to aid those who serve the Light against Darkness." He spoke in a soft, almost reverential tone all of a sudden." I was told it can focus the magic of those especially who serve their god with their weapons, for good and justice. That's why I wanted to send it to Tyr…When I touch it…" he hesitated a bit…"I am not entirely without the gift of seeing, you know…my mother had the Talent and she left me a bit of it. When I touch this fabric, it is as if it has thousands of little stars woven into it, waiting to be rekindled by whoever will own the garment into which it is made, waiting to light the Darkness…"_

_My first feelings were right. I nodded._

"_I will take it, then, in the spirit in which it was given: may Tyr's blessing be upon you, and upon your house."_

_After that, it was faster. Hassim had an ancient crone as his chief seamstress, and she took our measurements in yet another small side room we were ushered in, while Hassim, presumably, took care of whatever mysterious business he had to conclude with Casavir. And as she was fussing around us, I had time to think, again. _

I was rather distracted by that unusual encounter; I had to admit, even while kneeling in prayer in front of the god's altar now. Prior Hlam and the two sisters have finished the hymn, and now it was time for the responsory. I raised my own voice to join the chorus of brothers and sisters before the closing of the service when my vigil commenced in silence.

_O breastplate of life  
and hope of uniting  
all members as One,  
O sword-belt of honor,  
enfold those who offer blessing._

I never lied to myself: my voice was nothing special, but it was clear, and it carried, which, as Aevan told me a long time ago with one of his rare smiles, was more than most members of the order could say. The marble under my knees was just getting a bit harder, but I ignored the feeling: the sooner I noticed it, the worse it got through the night, I learned it from practice.__

Care for those  
who are imprisoned by the enemy  
and dissolve the bonds of those  
whom Divinity wishes to save.

_Therefore, praise be to you  
who are the sound of praise  
and the greatest prize of Life,  
who are hope and richest honor  
bequeathing the reward of Light._

"Faithful of Tyr, blessed be." intoned Prior Hlam at the end, his arms opened, palms towards his flock. I closed my eyes again as the powers he received from our god radiated across the distance, bathing me in His grace. "May He keep you and protect you. May Tyr turn his face upon you, and have Mercy and Justice guide you, wherever your road leads."

"Let it be so." We answered in response—and the service was over.

I stood up, like everyone else, and, as they started to file out of the temple, I walked around in the small chapel, lighting the rest of the candles as the rules of the vigil dictated. I had to have light all around me so it illuminates my night with His light.

I felt a light touch on my shoulder as I was busying myself with one of the large silver stands on the right side of the altar, which had about a dozen, almost arms thick candles set on it. Some petitioners of the god donated candles instead of money or precious objects, and these must have cost a great deal indeed.

I turned: I did not hear footsteps—but then again, this was His temple, and I was already in that peculiar state of pre-meditation when my mind starts to shut out noises.

"Blessings, Arrighan Pendwyr." It was the prior, with the lights of the candles shimmering on his ceremonial pauldrons. "We have not seen you in a while, my daughter."

"Father Prior…"I bowed. "It is kind of you to remember my name."

"It is hard to forget one such as yourself." he said, with a little smile. With the black cloth covering his empty left eye socket, thin, drooping black moustache, and his scarred visage, I had no doubt that he was terrifying in battle, but his melodious tenor voice and the compassion that radiated from everything he said or did softened the image of the warrior. I'll never forget how patient he was to Khelgar the first time we came to his temple to seek guidance.

"You are too kind to me, Father." I answered, a little uneasy. "My duties as a City Watch officer called me away for a while."

"Old Owl Well." he nodded. "Word travels fast, Arrighan. No doubt the Watch already expressed their thanks, as I know Lord Callum did. He sent me a courier as soon as he could. You are one of my flock, child…"He noticed my surprised expression. "How could I not ask an old friend, then, to update me on your progress?" He smiled. "I would not delay your vigil much longer…but I needed to talk to you tonight." His face grew serious all of a sudden. "Like I said, Callum is an old friend, and he sent me a detailed dispatch…about your exploits…and those of your companions. Especially your new one."

"This is about Casavir, isn't it?" I felt something heavy settling on my shoulders. Of course it was…he was of the Order, and from what I could gather, it was not necessarily with their blessings that he set out to become the bane of the orcs out at that lonely outpost.

Hlam took my elbow and led me to the lonely pew set in the chapel.

"It is, yes." he said as he sat down next to me, resting his gaze on the central statue of the altar. "I am assuming you already know that he and Callum were friends once, and fought together before he…chose to pursue another path."

"Prior, if this is…"I started, but he stalled me with his uplifted hand.

"I am not at liberty to talk much about this, child, you understand." He had concern in his eyes. "But just as you are one of my flock, so is he. I…feel like he took considerable risk coming back to Neverwinter with you. I cannot fathom what made him change his mind, but you need to know one thing: he does not give his allegiance lightly, especially considering that he had…given up all but one in the past years. Him coming back here can only mean that he values you very highly. His blood is pure, and ancient, and very, very proud."

I shook my head.  
"Father Prior…I thank you for your concern, truly, but…why are you telling me this? He is my…brother in Tyr, and we fought together and bled together protecting Neverwinter's citizens and interests at Old Owl Well. I saved his life, he says, and for that he chose to follow me. Yet…"I paused as I considered the past week, and especially this day. "Yet, I must confess, I am not entirely clear about why he's following me either. You are saying that he might be in danger coming back here?"

"I am saying he should never have left the first place." Hlam's face was sad. "We all make some bad choices in life, child, and even Tyr's paladins can be…straying from His path, albeit in His infinite justice sometimes he chooses not to withdraw His grace from those who sin thusly. "He stood up, resting his hand on my shoulder briefly. "Who knows, maybe this is a sign as well, him coming back with you?" he murmured so that I could barely hear him. "I shall seek the god's guidance in my prayers." His voice grew harder. "When you see Casavir in the morrow, tell him that the temple is open to him should he wish to enter—as it always was. I leave you to your vigil now, Arrighan. May Tyr guide you."

As he moved away, across the nave towards the sacristy door, I followed him with my eyes, my mind still reeling a bit from what he said, and, moreover what he did _not_ say. At last, when the echoes of his last footsteps died down under the vaults, I kneeled back to the cold marble, arranging myself for the long hours of solitude and contemplation.

I continued to weave the fabric of events, words and implications together; the way Aevan taught me to make the path for the truth.

From the first time I looked at Casavir, suspected that he was of higher stature than any of us in our merry little band. The way he spoke, the way he turned his head, the way he was always calm and measured, the way he took the inevitable chores that fell on him while on the road with grace and without objections (even though he was a horrible cook, and after that first night he made dinner we all voted unanimously not to ever repeat it—he took it with good humor and offered to chop firewood instead from now on)…The way he cared for his huge warhorse, Elbriel and gave me advice to deal with my own not-too-well tempered mare, or showed me with impeccable courtesy a more comfortable way of wearing my pauldrons by shortening and padding the shoulder straps securing it to my breastplate… Yet he never seemed haughty, impatient, or overly proud—all the qualities I normally associated with nobility and experienced already in Neverwinter. So I attributed all of that to the fact that he was a true paladin of our god, and struggled with a horrible feeling of insecurity all the time, thinking that I, with my hedge-knight teacher and originating from a '_rather stinky swamp village'_ (as some less charitable souls already pointed it out to me during my tenure as a Watch officer) was highly inferior and insufficiently prepared. This, of course, went straight against all the glowing praises and heartfelt thanks I have received from fellow Watch members, citizens of Old Owl Well and Neverwinter, or earlier on the road, of Highcliff or Fort Locke, even. Not that those got into my head…I just gotten comfortable with the notion of being a leader of a group, of knowing what to do, how to do it, and that the way I did it was the right way, eventually ending up with evil falling and the sun rising again.

It was not exactly that I lost that feeling or conviction after I met him, but there was a discord in the song now: there was something not right…as if I received a glimpse into the darker side of what I started when I decided to join the City Watch in an officer's role, which meant that eventually and inevitably I became part of Neverwinter politics.

And to think that I only wanted to meet an old sage who might know about these pieces of strangely wrought silver I carried…

I rested my forehead on my clasped hands: the pew for the vigil-holders had no lower part so one kneeled on the floor, but it contained an arm- or handrest. As my breathing slowed, part of my mind kept murmuring the prescribed prayers of Tyr—we had to recite them almost continuously through our day whenever possible, whatever we were doing. I have had a hard time learning to tuck it back to a corner where it gave a constant, soothing, meditative background to whatever I was doing. At first it was a bit dizzying, especially the very first time I saw combat, but by now it came naturally. It kept open the channels of power through which a paladin gets his or her powers from the god, and it focused them at the same time without being distracting, ready to wield that power at any given minute.

The other, larger part of my mind, however, kept shifting through images, conversations, sounds…like so many little tiles of a mosaic wrought in dizzying colors, strewn carelessly in a pile and waiting to be sorted and arranged so the image is clear. In their search of justice, Tyr's champions learn to see truth and separate facts from lies, truth from exaggeration, implications from real consequences. Aevan was a good teacher of the theories surrounding our faith as well as he made sure my body was ready for the challenges of being a warrior. This image lacked too many pieces, though. It just did not add up…however much I turned the ones I already had around and around.

_We did not talk much when we finally set out from Hassim's shop back to the Sunken Flagon. He was waiting for us as we emerged from the measuring room, a small bag slung on his shoulder where nothing was before, made of supple oxblood leather, its once shiny surface now dry and cracked, as if it was lying around somewhere for a long time, forgotten and abandoned. Hassim explained to me that the garments we ordered will be at our lodgings by tomorrow: I was mildly shocked by the speed, but as I clearly felt the magic between the fingers of the old woman who took our measurements, I had some sort of explanation and I did not have to yet again come across like a country lass let loose in the big city. He also told me that the person delivering the garments will bring the bill that I can pay to him at that point—I learned something again, about how things are done once sufficiently high in society._

"_Be well then, radiant lady." he bowed to me at last, with an odd flourish of his hands. "May the grace of your god never leave you. This humble servant thanks you for coming to my humble establishment today and light up my day, all three of you." His gaze flickered over to where Casavir stood patiently waiting, one hand rested on his sword. "My lord…keep well."_

"_Merchant…" He nodded coolly. "I will remember you in my prayers for keeping what I entrusted you so well."_

"_My lord is kind beyond what I deserve." He sounded sincere, this time. "If I can ever be of service again to you or your house…"_

"_My house…is that of the god, merchant." He turned away, pushing open the door: that deep, resonant voice cold as the deepest depths of the Sea of Swords. "Nothing more."_

I felt something click into place, then, with an almost audible sound, as my mind played back the event of the afternoon, slowing down until it stopped completely…

_As he turned, I got a glimpse of something on the faded oxblood leather: looked like an insignia, or a coat-of-arms, etched into the bag with lines almost completely eroded by time and neglect…shield cut horizontally five times, with some kind of markings on three of those fields._

I was not familiar with heraldry terms, or the emblems of nobility in Neverwinter at all—my education was sadly lacking in that regard while worrying about harvest yields and the birth of foals or hunting down deer eating our grain. But I tried to burn those fading lines into my memory now so later, maybe, I could take a look in the Order's books or consult the famed Neverwinter Archives if I ever get access to Blacklake where it was located.

"_His blood is pure, and ancient, and very, very proud."_ Prior Hlam told me.

_And I could see that all the way back to the Sunken Flagon, I realized it now. And I also could see that he worked very hard on not giving anyone a chance to recognize him: he did not shave since our last encounter with orcs, he wore a scruffy leather jerkin over his chainmail shirt, and he covered the whole thing up with a greasy grey cloak that he normally used on rainy days only. But there are certain things one cannot change. As we passed through the streets, Neeshka happily chattering with Elanee about the new garments, about the possibility of decent food for supper, I watched Casavir in silence, only occasionally taking part in their conversation. I saw, looking back now, how people tended to get out of his way unconsciously; how some of them turned, half-way past, and looked after him, with a vaguely confused look over their face, as if they recalled something from days long gone, as if the face that wore those stubbles, the body that carried that oily cloak and scruffy leather did not fit its accoutrements…I saw some women at a market stall staring at him and whispering with shiny eyes…_

_It was not, like with me, immediately obvious that he served Tyr: his holy symbol was under his jerkin, his sword was plain and without ornaments, his head bore no helmet…and yet, he drew the eye once one started to see the signs._

_When we were back at the Flagon, I told him what I decided to do._

"_I thought it only fair." I stood in front of him on the corridor of our rooms, and did not flinch, even though I could see he was furious. "We trespassed on your time and on your privacy. For that I apologize, and I offer this as recompense."_

"_You did not know…" He smoothed down his hair with one hand: that movement was one I have not seen before from him, tentative and boyish. "My lady, you cannot give me such a gift."_

"_It is mine." I shrugged. "Hassim gave me the entire bolt of silk, Casavir… and a cloak of protection for a paladin of Tyr to wear is surely fitting to give, from another."_

"_But…can't you see?" He seemed so impatient. I did not understand. "A gift such as this…in the eye of others it might seem…"_

"_Screw others." Now I started to get impatient, too, and these times my origins showed a bit. "I am no court lady, Sir Knight, so don't expect this to be anything else than what it **is.** I wish to share something with you that we both can benefit from, if you decide to continue on with us." I pointed at his cloak. "Besides, that thing is an abomination, and should be burned. Where did you find such a wretched piece of…?"_

"_It was my father's campaign cloak." His eyes were utterly unreadable now, and I felt like I just received a full-force punch in the chest._

"_Oh gods…I am sorry." I reached out and grabbed his arm without thinking. "I am…not very tactful, sometimes. And today…" I took a shaky breath, "Today, not at all. Please forgive me."_

"_Tactful, no…" I still could not see anything on his face, but his voice lost some of the frost from it. "Honest and open, yes." He covered my hand on his arm with his for a moment. "And for that, I thank you. It is something that I…did not have for a while."_

This pained him, really did, I realized now, as I kneeled in my vigil. He was not used to it: he was not used to be with people who _cared_, for quite a while. The band of outcasts with which we found him, with the exception of one warrior, Katriona, was a bunch of barely trained vigilantes, not even on militia levels. How he managed to keep them together and alive in those mountains so long, I had no idea, but thinking about it gave me even more respect for his abilities as a leader of men. He must have inspired them, made them realize that by sticking with him, they can actually have a chance for a payback against those monsters who took away their livelihood, their farms, their families…but they clung to him largely because of sheer survival instincts and the need to share resources and the necessity of the kill…not out of any sense of duty or honor or even personal likes. It was painfully obvious, that fact, when, after we returned to Old Owl Well and reported to Callum, only the woman Katriona came by to seek him out to ask about what he planned to do next.

It must not have been easy…in fact, this was probably, just like Prior Hlam implied, one of the hardest things he did…coming back to the city. If, as I suspected it now, he fell into disgrace over something…

Clearly there was something more here than I could really base anything on, but it was a start I could get on with, after my vigil. The god, again, let me to glimpse something that was a sparkle of the truth, and trusted me to do with it whatever I could.

I prayed that I was worthy of it.


	4. Carry Me

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**Disclaimers:**

**As you probably already guessed after the first chapter, English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections.**

**There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things.**

**I write to music; there is a 'soundtrack' to each of these chapters. In case anyone is interested, this one's included the following: _The Glade Part II _from the soundtrack album of _The Last of the Mohicans_; _The Might of Rome_ (Part 1) from the _Gladiator_ soundtrack, and _Carry Me _from the Brother's _Black Stone Tramp_ album. **

**Some will recognize the lyrics of the ballad Grobnar plays, too (it is variously called _Little Musgrave_ or _Matty Groves_): it had many performers, but my recording is from a Hungarian Scot-Irish band called M.E.Z. I suspect not many are familiar with it; however, it has just the right feel to express what I wanted to show here.**

**Chapter Four: Carry Me**

I got back to the _Flagon_ with the first signs of dawn. It still was odd to me, every time, that after these nights of contemplation and prayers I did not feel utterly spent and exhausted. Times like this, the world spun into a much sharper focus wherever I looked—as I crossed the empty and dark common room towards the stairs in the back, I could even see the normally invisible faint lights of magic over several of the trophies and assorted curiosities Uncle Duncan kept on the walls from his adventuring days. My mind was clear and ready for whatever lay ahead in the day: and, considering the ship we had to visit was a Luskan one, it probably meant we had to load for bear.

The first light of the sun just appeared over the rooftop. I was through with all the moves of my practice and was busy with my armor's slightly too tight buckles, smoothing weapon oil on my blade, and other small but vital tasks that kept me alive more than once these months, when I heard the courtyard door opening again.

"Good morning." I said, not even looking up: I could, by now, recognize the noises plate armor made, and there was only one other member of our company whom might have been not only up this time of the day, but in full battle gear. "You rested well?"

"By the grace of Tyr, my lady." As he got closer, I felt his silver-and-blue aura touching mine. "How fared your vigil?"

We were terribly formal this morning, it seemed. I did not mind: it suited what I needed to tell him better. I put my blade and the oily rag down and stood up to face him.

"I have a message for you, Sir Knight…from the Father Prior of the Temple."

"Hlam? What does _he_ want?" That was almost spat at me: also, there was a flicker of something, too quick for me to catch—hurt? Anger? Pride? All of the three?

He shook his head.

"Forgive me, my lady. I… forgot my courtesy, it seems." There was a deep sigh, and his shoulders lowered, as if under some invisible weight he carried. The silver-blue of his aura faded somewhat. "Please continue."

He looked like his night was not quite restful. I could see some deep, dark shadows under his eyes that were new…not even after the toughest days of battle at Old Owl Well the gleam of his fierce azure gaze dulled the way it had, now. I did not like this change, not a bit, and that made me irrationally angry. I pulled myself up to my full height and raised my voice to its most formal cadences.

"Our Father Prior bade me to say you this: _'Tell Sir Casavir that the temple is open to him should he wish to enter—as it always was.'_" I bowed slightly from my waist and continued. "That was from him. Now I must speak to you as to a member on my company and my brother in Tyr. Will you hear me?" I forced myself to keep my breathing slow, my gaze even: I did not look forward to what probably was coming, but it was not entirely me who made this choice.

"I…would not press this, were I you, my lady." That was said in almost a growl. "The message was received; it does not concern you, whatever…"

"Casavir: I am not the one pressing this." How could he not see? There was no way around it, it was inevitable. "I have a responsibility to all who tie their fate and fortune to me. I do not ask anyone to come with me unless they can follow with their full self. Khelgar chose to travel with me because he pursues the path that will lead him to Tyr and the understanding of why one fights. Neeshka I rescued from people who thought she should be murdered in cold blood just because she has horns and a tail, regardless of who she _is_ as a person: she decided to stay, I think, after she realized that despite all the mischief she committed in her short life, I never thought her a waste of flesh…"I smiled, briefly. "Besides, I promised her if she dies she'd get a real tomb with marble and gold letters... Elanee watched over me since I was a child in West Harbor and decided to openly follow me when I had to leave the Mere, even though that meant she broke her vows to her Circle…how I can not repay that with standing by her? Grobnar…Grobnar I saved from orcs and he thinks I, for some unfathomable reason, have a knack of getting into situations worthy of songs. And Qara…well, at the moment, she has a debt she owes to me and my uncle, and that is the best I can hope from her—but she keeps her word, that much I already know about her." I took a deep breath. "And that leaves you. Casavir: why are you following me?"

As I said that, I felt a strange rush of power entering me. At first, it was a faint sound of the wind as it rustles the branches of an oak tree, then a scent of cedar and sandalwood and frankincense in my nostrils…then I felt a trace of silver shining on the inside of my eyelids for the briefest but most intense split seconds I have ever experienced. I felt as if the crown of my head was on fire. I heard my own voice deepen; I felt it filled with cadences of power I did not possess. I felt time stop.

"_**Why did you come back to Neverwinter,**_ _**where you should never have left the first place? You were one of the chosen, one favored by the oak tree and the lightning, the sword and the hammer. You thought I've left you, you thought I've abandoned you—but I was always there. You always ever run from your own self, never from me. I was always there, my son. Time to stop running.**_**"**

"Time…to stop running...running…" I heard myself whisper. My head came up as if on a string. I swayed: why was I so weak?

"_Reba naethe na'chaalom atha abba…reba tha-tile lo amnar-u'shoalmoth…"_ The sacred language of Tyr, the words of prayer only said in the heart of hearts, speaking it only to the god…?

"What…?" My voice sounded cracked, my throat parched. I felt like I was repeatedly hit on the head with a hammer, hard. "What…happened?"

I finally could lift my eyes and look at him. He was kneeling in front of me, his eyes covered by his hands, rocking back and forth, repeating the words of the prayer…

I sank down next to him, utterly shaken and confused: my heart and my head were pounding. I did not know what was going on. My last memory was asking him to give me his reasons of coming with me, to get some answers to questions that distracted me from…

"You spoke to me with the god's voice. "he said in a whisper that shook my body with the force of its pain and hurt. "The Lord of Justice talked to me, and I…I…" His fingers trembled as he touched my face. "Aasimar…you are truly one of His chosen…I should not have doubted."

"I am…no." I jerked back. How does one react when she's informed that she just became a vessel of one's god, if only for a moment? Me, I was in pain, I was nauseated, I was exhausted beyond belief…and yet, there was something there that was not before. There was…truth.

"Casavir…I am just Arrighan." This was _hard_. "Look at me. I don't know anything about being chosen or special…I only follow Him to the best of my abilities. I am not holy, I am not to be revered, and…and if he spoke to you in…some way…please, don't…"I was not sure how to continue: my education certainly did not include handling a situation like this. "Ah, this is frustrating!" I slapped my palm on my thigh. "I will just speak my mind; my head hurts too much to dress this up nicely: whatever you heard, I don't remember. I don't have any idea beyond the fact that I had a most uncomfortable conversation with Prior Hlam about how you have A Past, all capital letters, with hints about you leaving the city despite orders, referrals to your high noble status, compounded by your secret visit to a merchant who deals in smuggled magical goods and apparently stores things for those who need to leave the city in a hurry. I don't know squat about what happened in Neverwinter in years past besides the most basic information, I don't know anything about noble families, their coat-of-arms or genealogies, and I don't really want to. I am of the City Watch, and of Tyr, however, and as such, I need certainties and truth. If not today, then later…but I need to know I have someone who will stand by me and watch my back and not run away at some point to pursue family revenge or some such. " My whole body trembled by the time I finished that little speech: I had to pull my knees up and hug them to my chest the way I always did since I was little and something happened that upset me greatly. I rested my chin on top of my kneecaps and looked at him again. "Need to know if you are with me, Casavir. Are you?"

He let out a long, shuddering sigh, ending in something that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

"Ah…my lady." He stood up slowly: normally he bore that plate armor so easy, and yet now I could see every ounce of it pulling his shoulders. "'Tis not easy for me; may Tyr give that you never have to understand." Whatever it was, this secret of his, it was not an easy burden to carry: he looked much older, too, now. "I am with you, yes. And…for what's worth…I am sorry for not being forthcoming with…"

"You don't have to. " I still did not feel well enough to stand up, so I craned my neck instead to look up at him. "I meant when I said that I don't need you to tell me all of it. Gods know I have secrets in my past I still don't know about because no one tells me…I can do without any more weighing on me. But to know that it will not put any of us in danger…"

"I would never do that, my lady. That I can swear to you. "I could hear the truth in his voice, now, clearer than ever. "After what happened here, I…"

"About that, now." I cut in, fast. I felt absurdly ashamed. "I would…really appreciate if this…whatever it was, would stay between us…please? I don't…doubt your words, but…please understand. I am…I am just a half-baked paladin from West Harbor, still halfway in training, it feels." The words came easier, now that I started to speak. "Most of the time I have no idea what I am doing, or how. I feel fearfully unprepared for what is asked of me here, and then…this?" I indicated the ground around us, witnessing something I still could not quite remember. "Do you think anyone in this city would believe it?"

He regarded me for what seemed forever with those impossibly blue eyes of his, and yet again, it struck me just how little I actually knew about him. It did not exactly frighten me, but it certainly provided much food for thought, given that he and I shared the exact same vocation. Well, almost, anyway.

"As you wish, my lady. "He bowed, oddly formal, this time, and I knew that I could trust him then. "I would think that is what the god wants, too…"he said, quietly. "I have much to think about."

I finally felt well enough to stand up. I uncoiled my legs and rose, still a bit shaky. He tried to assist me at the elbow, but I shook my head: this really was something I had to do without help.

"Maybe, then, it is time for you to visit the temple?" I asked tentatively as I picked up my weapon again.

"You are…stubborn." There was little catch in his voice, as if he wanted to say something else. A slight trace of that earlier growl was creeping back.

"You bet I am. " I fussed with the guard chains, they were slightly tangled. "Not only I am a paladin, and a City Watch officer, I am also a stiff-necked, uncouth and unrefined Harborman to boot."

"That is unfortunate." There was something in his voice that made me to whip around…just in time to get my sword arm up to block and counter the blow that he directed, straight and unerring, to my uncovered head. It was all I could do to go through with the counter, switch my stance and lower my balance—it was a rather strong strike.

_Oh. So is that how it was?_ I gritted my teeth and got to work. We never sparred before: I guessed this was the perfect time for it.

I had no time to think more, though: he countered my counter…then again, again and again. I only had one advantage at first: as I shed my plates earlier, I was quicker on my feet; but at the same time it made me more vulnerable. Should his dull practice blade reach me, it was guaranteed to leave some marks at best, and break bones at worst.

Oh, he was good; I knew that before. We fought side by side enough for me to assess just how competent and elegant he was, how deadly the dance of his blade, how sure his blows…but now that I was up against him, I could really see how a formally trained Tyr-paladin could just put everything into his moves, how seemingly simple yet deadly the geometry of it was. I could match him, for a while, yes, but that was about it. I could match him, and follow through, and use all my reserves, and hope that he was good enough to realize when to stop…

He did…just barely. He stopped his blade about a hair's breadth from my throat as he stepped inside my guard with his last, blindingly fast and deadly precise move, grabbing my arm and forcing it down my side in a lock that made me drop my sword or else my wrist got shattered. He hooked one leg behind my knee, just bending it enough so that I felt that something would snap if he'd chosen to take me to the ground: an arm, a knee, even my spine—I felt it through the tension that my entire body was suddenly under.

"Thank you." He said suddenly and released me with a little bow, which I recognized from my bouts with my teacher. "I am honored."

"Next…time…" I bent over and tried to catch my breath, as I felt sweat pouring into my eyes and feeling distinctly small and insignificant. "…Next time you feel like you….need to work out some tension….would you… warn me first…?"

His laughter surprised me.

"As usual, you have the right of it, my lady. " he said when he stopped: I caught myself wishing he hadn't. "I can make that promise...if you permit me to speak frankly…?"

"Go ahead, Sir." I still had trouble recovering: he really _was_ pushing hard. I sat back on my trusty hay bale and concentrated on not seeing colorful little dancing bubbles in the air around me. He, of course, was barely breathing out of the ordinary.

"We will have to start doing this regularly." he said in a serious voice. I had to nod.

"I…figured…I am…not much when it comes to proper techniques, am I?"

"Nothing is wrong with the techniques." He shook his head. "You have those down, I watched you enough while doing your practices in the mornings. It is the form that's…sloppy."

"Sloppy." I repeated. "That's an interesting word to use."

"It describes what you have a habit of doing. You take shortcuts that are…decreasing the effectiveness of the techniques your teacher taught you and open you up for someone larger and heavier to take advantage. You are tall and strong for a woman, but not a match for…:"

"Hey." I lifted a hand. "Not to sound overconfident, but remember Yaisog Bonegnasher…?"

"Yes, I do." His voice cut cold—but true. "He had neither technique not form, only decades-long experience in brutal-strength fighting. You got lucky there. The same holds for most of your opponents this far, I am afraid. It might change any second…and as I am by your side now, I feel responsible for making sure you continue your training in the sacred arts of Tyr."

That was definitely…more than I expected. It was, however, necessary—and to a certain degree inevitable. Through the screaming of my overworked muscles, I felt a wave of gratitude washing over me.

"Um…thank you?" I offered, slightly mumbling and with that sinking feeling in my stomach I felt last time when Aevan told me he'd take up my education. "So…when do we start?"

"You already did." I got a quick smile that was like the sun coming up from behind clouds for a second. _Uh-oh_. I wanted to see more of that. "I will get you started on some exercises tomorrow that will help even more—and instead of going through the sequences of the Path from now on separately, you and I will train together." He paused for a moment. "After I visit the Temple today."

I felt like a huge weight just lifted from my shoulder.

"You will see Prior Hlam, then?" I asked quietly as I started to gather my belongings into my gear bag.

"After this morning, my lady…I don't think I can do otherwise."

"Then I will have to say good-bye for the day. I have an assignment to see this ship in the harbor on behalf of the Watch…" I shoved the last bit of armor into my bag, tied the cord and stood up. "I'll take Khel, Elanee and Neeshka with me…"I hastened to add as I saw him opening his mouth to object. "I am not an impulsive teenager, Casavir…not going to run there all by myself thinking I can do everything alone. If anything, you showed that to me today. And don't even think about offering to escort me, after I finally won that round about you going to the Temple." I added. "We will be just fine."

He insisted on paying for breakfast, though. I found it strangely endearing: no one ever treated me like that, not even Khelgar, who otherwise clearly thought of me as some kind of little sister. All through our journeys, I was either paying for everyone's stuff, or we bought for ourselves each. But here I was, sitting at a table in my uncle's common room, on one of his slow mornings, and watching Qara slamming down two plates with rather burnt bacon bits and strangely curly sunny-side-up eggs in front of us.

"And good morning to you too, dear." I said with just the slightest touch of caution. "Did they make you cook these for us?"

"Don't push, it, paladin." She shoved the plates closer and glared at me defiantly. "You might think it is funny for me to pay your uncle back by playing waitress, but…"

"Why would it be funny? On the contrary, I believe it should not only be a valuable life lesson but a way of getting you a harmless way to exercise your considerable talents in a much more…creative way than torching stables." I tentatively prodded the bacon with my fork. "And this certainly looks …cooked."

She just made a snorting noise and sailed away, her chin high, her hair unmussed, her apron slightly scorched around the hem. The worst barmaid in Neverwinter, ever.

"You _are_ pushing her, you know." Casavir said as we tucked in. Uncle Duncan stopped by with two mugs of coffee. Sometimes I love my uncle. Most mornings, with my first cup of coffee, certainly. "She is not used to this."

"Well, no…but it _is_ a valuable life experience, for someone such as Qara, slumming here with us." I nibbled a piece of egg yolk experimentally: yum. It was burnt just the way I liked it. "That's what they say about you too, by the way."

He lifted an eyebrow, but did not rise to the bait.

"She is a spoiled young girl from a rather sheltered upbringing, under constant pressure to prove she's more than just her parents' child." he said, after about half of his plate disappeared without me noticing it. Hmmm…perceptive, _and_ he had table manners, too. Yes, I _definitely_ have to remember to stop just picking out the blackened bits by hand or slopping my bread into the grease. "As for me slumming, though: does anyone think I was dining from silver plates out there at Old Owl Well?"

"You got a point." I had to admit. "On both counts. I cannot go easy on Qara, though…that she would interpret as a weakness. The only way I could make her understand that she really had to stop feuding with those other Academy students outside the Flagon was to frankly tell her: she damages my uncle's establishment, I damage her." I sipped on my coffee. "That, she understood…m-mmmm."

"What?"

"Oh. Sorry." I adjusted my facial expression to something less radiant. "Coffee." I explained. "The first of the day. It does that to me."

"I see." I got another of those tentative smiles of his that made him look like he was barely a novice. "It is…interesting."

It was my turn to lift an eyebrow.

"How so?"

"It's like…a window opening up. " He said slowly. "To a warm and sunny place. Your… aura lights up with little sparkles. I've never seen someone so…openly enjoying something as mundane as a cup of coffee. It is…unusual to me."

"What, enjoying something?" I could not help it, it was out of me before I could think about what I was saying.

I think my toes were blushing too. Back to my mug I fled, carefully avoiding looking at anything but the liquid in it until I reached its bottom.

"Hmmmm." I heard from the other side of the table. "I choose to take that as a gentle advice from one member of our Order to another, if you don't mind."

"You do that, please. Sorry. I am tactless and uncouth, as usual." Trying to keep bitterness out of my voice, I put the mug down and looked around to see if anyone from our merry band was around yet. The only person I could see was Grobnar, sitting in a corner, with his lute in his hand, talking to one of Uncle Duncan's regulars, a dark-haired man dressed in leathers. "I think I need to go and knock on some doors, now…I wonder where everyone is?"

"Sleeping off last night, probably." Casavir leaned back a bit more comfortably on his chair and wiped his fingers off with a napkin. He used _napkins_—and Uncle Duncan knew to provide them with his food, every time. I had _so_ much to learn. "Apparently there was a kind of a…contest held while you were at your vigil…"

"Oh, no." I waved to Uncle Duncan for more coffee. "Please don't tell me Khelgar challenged someone again…"

"It was a mere drinking contest, my lady. And he won it, so nothing to fear." Will wonders never cease? I got a smile again. I sighed, and then realized it was one of those happy little sighs I usually made when I was a kid and Retta, Bevil's mom made my favorite blackberry pie, the kind that paints your tongue black.

Duncan came to the table with my second mug and scowled at me.

"Do I need to settle a tab from last night?" I looked at him. "Thanks." I accepted the mug and patted his hand. "I understand there was a…contest…?"

"Your dwarf, lass." said Duncan and would not stop the scowling. "I'll get you the damage in writing when I am back from getting more beer from my supplier. I am almost out, you understand." He threw up his hands in exasperation. "One would think that if one's niece is Tyr's holy warrior, she has friends who don't necessarily boast that they can drink everyone in this inn under the table, including Bishop, then proceed to prove it…:"

"Bishop?" I asked; I have not heard that name before.

Duncan waved vaguely towards the corner where Grobnar was sitting with the dark-haired man. They seemed to be discussing a song or something: short, sharp accords of something that sounded like a fragment of a ballad wafted towards us from there.

"One of my regulars, a tracker. Anyhow, I better be going to make sure I don't have to close the Flagon for the day for lack of ale." He shot a look at Casavir. "Will ye make sure she don't get into no trouble, yer lordship?"

"Your niece can take care of herself, Duncan." He stood up, and pushed his chair back to the table: the coarse linen napkin folded on his plate, the mug kitty-corner to it. I have never seen anyone so neat and organized, not even my foster-father who could be rather peculiar about how the house was run. "And you can call me on my name. I'll be here for a while." He gave me a nod. "I'll better be on my way, my lady—I'll leave word if I am delayed at the Temple. Blessings of Tyr be upon your goings today."

"That is one fine, fine gentleman." Duncan said as we both watched him leaving. "Wonder why he's still with us, though."

"Paid for a week ahead, remember? "I looked at him sideways. "I'd rather wonder why he left so abruptly…He sounded a bit…strained." I shot a look at my uncle. "And you _stop_ looking at me like that right now, Duncan Furlong, or else!"

He just smirked, slapped me on the shoulder with that not-too-clean serving towel he always carried around and left me, too.

What a day, again…and it was only mid-morning…I glanced towards that corner: Grobnar was definitely working on some ballad or another, probably rehearsing something at that man's request: fragments of some verses wafted towards me as I settled back to finish my coffee.

_Saying "Do you like my feathery bed? And do you like my sheets?  
And do you like my lady wife, who lies in your arms asleep?"_

"It's well I like your feather bed, and well I like your sheets.  
Better I like your lady wife who's here in my arms asleep."

Oh, great. Another of those murder ballads ever so popular in taverns…this will end badly, no doubt, like about a dozen others. Just what I needed to cheer me up before I head out to face whatever that Luskan ship was hiding. Probably smugglers with more weapons, I suspected.

"_Well, get up, get up," Lord Darnell cried, "get up as fast as you can!  
Never be said in this fair land that I killed a naked man."_

Definitely one of those ballads, I decided. I probably ought to walk over there and tell my gnome bard to play something a little more cheerful: whatever this tracker had him rehearsing seriously cast a gloom over my coffee-induced happiness.

_Are you sure it's just the coffee, Arrighan?_ My inner self was apparently in a wicked mood today, but I decided it was just my uncle's snide remarks resonating in me, together with this awful song…

_"Oh, I can't get up, I won't get up, I won't get up for my life.  
For you have two bitter swords and I have but a pocket-knife."_

"Grobnar!"I turned around, my patience ending. "Far be from me to restrain you from pleasing a customer, but could you please just try to do it a bit less loud? I am trying to have a good morning here! The latest product of your creative genius is not something I want along with my breakfast…"

"My…apologies, lady Arrighan…"The gnome looked up from his instrument, surprise etched on his face. His companion looked at me too…

_Gods, the man has eyes that had probably froze people on their tracks_…I had no idea Duncan let _his_ type in. The man called Bishop made all my paladin senses of danger go off at once, and not just gently, but with that sharp, metallic-feeling tingle that jars me to full battle alert.

Grobnar kept babbling about how this was not really his song but something that was rather popular in Neverwinter a few years back and was actually connected to some local scandal or another…but I could hardly hear him. I stared at this auburn-haired man with the dead eyes of a born and trained killer, and all of a sudden I felt as if I was on the edge of some sharp, cruel and unfathomably deep chasm, and one bad step might make me plunge into such dark, chaos-filled abyss as Aevan so often painted the Nine Hells to me.

No, not a good day at all. And something told me it will not get any better, either.

I hate when I am right.


	5. Now Is Here

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**Disclaimers:**

**As you probably already guessed after the first chapter, English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections.**

**There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things.**

**I write to music; there is a 'soundtrack' to each of these chapters. In case anyone is interested, this one's included three songs from Clannad: **_**Together We**__**In A Lifetime**_**, and **_**Now Is Here**_**—all conveniently re-released on **_**Rogha: The Best of Clannad**_ **so I did not have to scramble for the different CDs.**

**Chapter Five**

By the end of that day, I badly needed a drink, despite the fact that under normal circumstances I stick with the coffee or water.

"Let me see…" I tapped my finger on my chin while trying to shoo a rather fussy Duncan away from me. "Calm down, Uncle, the blood is only partially mine…yes, I will get my plate off if you could just let me breathe…thank you for the private room, by the way, I would have hated to scare your well-paying customers. No, I already reported to the Watch, you don't have to send a runner." Everyone tried to talk at once, as it was usual by now, after the concentration of trying not to get killed wore off, so I was in about five conversations at once. "You did get more ale, right? No, Khelgar, dear, that does not mean you can have an entire keg tonight, even though you…Qara, if you pour that hot water all over me while I am still in full gear, I swear I take the back of my sword to…thanks, that's better—_into_ the bowl, please. Yes, Sal, what is it?"

"Got a visitor." the bartender announced from the doorstep, shuffling his feet. "Says it's urgent—can I let him in here?"

"Right now?" I prodded tentatively at the gash at my side: a blade somehow found that little gap between the side of my breastplate, my pauldrons and the maille underneath. I already stopped the bleeding and the scarring process was pretty much done, thanks to my healing abilities—but the undershirt and the padded jerkin was ruined for sure, and a visit to the armorsmith was definitely in order. "Who is it?"

"That Watch officer…the Harborman…Cormick's the name?" Sal offered, glancing back to the common room. He had this annoying tendency to present everything he said like it was a question, like he was not quite sure about anything. I wondered, sometimes, what made him that way, and made a mental note, again, to talk to him at some point. _Yes, once a paladin, always a paladin._ "Can I go back to the bar now? They'll steal our eyes out…"

'Sure…tell him to come in." I got up, ignoring Duncan's glare. "I _told_ you, Uncle, I am fine, it was just a flesh wound and it's already scarring… Why, Marshall, what an honor to see you here." I said with the same breath, an only slightly changing tone. "Do excuse the mess, please, we are just back from that little warehouse where you told us there might be a wee resistance to ideas the Watch favors, such as 'no indiscriminate slaughter and headhunting inside city walls'…"

"Your sarcasm is showing, Lieutenant, kindly tuck it back." Cormick surveyed the scene from the doorstep, then stepped inside, closed the door and leaned against it. "I take it after you visited us at the Watch House with your report about the Luskans, you run into something more interesting than a few smugglers?"

"Bastard." said Neeshka with feeling from her end of the table. She was scraping things off her blades that were thicker and darker colored than anything human. "You knew exactly what you were sending us into, didn't you? " Her tail was twitching angrily. "Not only we run into a dozen of those friggin' Luskan assassins on that ship, then we had to dispatch a wizard too…but you hounds had to send us to the midst of the worst gith infestation I've ever seen, and considering I only ever heard of githyanki since I started to travel with _her_ here…"she jabbed her thumb at me, "that's something, those things keep popping up every time she turns around. But oh no, there are just some additional assassins there, probably, since that's where that ship's cargo was bound…bloody hounds!" She slammed one of her slender daggers on the table so it ringed. "There was a fucking _golem_ there, Mr. Marshall-of-the-Watch, do you get that?"

"Neesh." I said, slowly, before Cormick could respond. "Of course they had some idea…why do you think they sent _us_ and not one of your partners from that dice game yesterday?" I looked at her, hard, and she had the good grace to turn away. "Those boys are good for patrolling, or breaking up a fight here, or make sure additional smuggling does not happen, but to deal with a Luskan professional assassin squad supporting a full wizard…and those outsiders…? Would you have had that twenty-year old charge in there and get butchered?"

"'S not fair." she muttered, still defiant, her red hair in disarray. "It's like there was a war, and we were some kind of soldiers or something…"

"Do I need to remind you that we are the hounds now, too?" There was truth in her anger, I had to own, but still, she had a difficult time adjusting to our role as Watch agents. Hells, all of us had, even me. "This association with me is voluntary, so without being too harsh…"

"I know, I know, I know…"She lifted a hand in the sign of submission. "No need to beat me up over it…"She glanced at Cormick. "Sorry, Marshall, I got outta line there, my leader here wants to say, and for that I am sorry." You had to hand it to the tiefling, she could own up to her mistakes lately a lot more often.

"Apology accepted…"Cormick nodded calmly: I have only seen him out of sorts once, when the topic of corruption in the Watch came up. Then he was shouting, on the top of his lungs, and at his captain, too. I had been glad no one else was in the room with the three of us: I got embarrassed by my compatriot's behavior, even though he had a lot of truth in his words." I understand your concern: they used to be my own. Before the Special Section was set up." he added on a lower voice. The Special Section was where we belonged to, unofficially: it did not really exist anywhere but in some records in Captain Brelaina's office. I suspected maybe some of the Nine knew about it—Cormick headed this Watch division, and, as that little scene back at her office over officers accepting bribes showed to me, he butted heads on a regular basis with his Captain over it.

I don't think anyone expected me to fully grasp the situation when I enlisted: what I simply wanted at first was, not to put too fine an edge to it, to do some good and to earn our entrance to Blacklake. By now, though, our merry little band has developed something of a reputation in the Docks District and beyond.

Cormick looked at us with some amusement in his grey eyes. He was still leaning against the door with an ease of practice only a Watchman could.

"I see, however, that apart from a considerable amount of wear and tear on your equipment and that smallish and almost healed gash on you, Lieutenant…"he jabbed a finger towards me, "there were no injuries. And that is…"

He got that far when the door literally flew open, landing him on the table in front of him. That was some forceful door opening, as Cormick was a rather large Harborman, all in chainmail. That thought, however, did not even register fully when my sword was already in my hand—the instincts worked. I caught a flash of Elanee's hand from the corner of my eyes as she readied one of her spells…

Then the door finished its arc, slammed against the wall, and I spotted the figure standing there.

"Shit, lad, I almost bashed your head in with this axe." That was Khelgar from just behind me: comfortable throwing distance for a dwarf. "Didn't they teach you to knock in that fancy temple of yours?"

"Yeah, what the runt said." Neeshka lowered her throwing dagger. " We are a tad jumpy here, paladin, so we'd appreciate if you would not barge in like that, and…wow, ouch, you _really_ make me itch now!"

Casavir walked into the room like a large all-silver thundercloud. He glared at my companions, ignored Cormick who by now recovered but chose to stay seated on top of the table where he was thrown, and turned to me.

"I just arrived back from the temple, and as your 'keeper informed me that…" His gaze took in my injury at just that moment, and his voice deepened with concern. "You are… injured, my lady." he said and stepped closer. "If you allow me…"

"It is fine." I felt a flash of anger. "We are all fine, everything is fine." _Oh great_, I thought, _here comes the inevitable lecture about how I really should have taken him with us, and how this never should have happened if he, so experienced in these matters, had been able to assist with those green-skinned outsiders who landed their blows at me_…I glanced at my uncle who quietly slipped to the door and closed it back before we attracted attention: Duncan, the ever practical. "Except Marshall Cormick's back, perhaps, but I trust you'll apologize for that." I tried to keep my temper in check, but I must admit I failed at that point, and rather spectacularly, as the tension of the past couple of hours finally reached my breaking point and it all came pouring out. I poked my finger in his chest: it was not hard, he was right there in front of me.

"What the bloody hells you charged in like that for, anyway? You think we need babysitting and constant supervision; that we cannot take care of what is our job; that I am not competent enough to fix a superficial flesh wound of my own?"

The anger dissipated rather fast, as it usually did: in its place I felt drained and a bit dizzy. I turned away and started to grab at the buckles of my plates.

"Need to take these down now…" I muttered into the sudden silence that engulfed us. "Khel, can you give me a hand with this, please?" I had to sit down: the room seemed to be moving a bit, in a small, swaying motion, which was odd. My fingers worked the straps, but it felt as if they were stuck in some thick syrup—they did not seem to be moving the right way. "I think…" I looked up.

"Ye gods, lass…you went all white…" Khelgar sounded worried. "You all right?"

"Sure…" My own voice seemed a bit distant. "I just…need to get this off…" I yanked at my pauldron on my right shoulder: and brilliant white-green lightning of pain exploded in my side, right along that almost healed wound.

My last thought, before that brilliant explosion claimed me, was_: this behavior surely will earn me another night's vigil in the temple…_then nothing.

When I came to, I felt myself swaddled in blankets so thoroughly I barely could move. Not that I really wanted to. I was drenched in sweat; I was shaky like a day-old kitten—but my head was clear and there was no pain. As my vision cleared, I found I was in my room, in my bed, under about six blankets. My armor was on its stand right next to me, and they really did a great job cleaning and polishing that old piece of junk up…_wait a minute… it was not my old piece of junk: it was a brand new…_

"Whose…stuff is that…?" My tongue was thick and my throat dry: my voice came out like a raven's croak. I tried to pull myself up on my elbows—and failed spectacularly.

"One thing at a time." A blessedly cold, herb-scented touch on my forehead: that was Elanee, changing a compress with deft fingers while she smiled at me, with relief dancing in her eyes. "First, get your strength back. You have been poisoned by that githyanki blade. Your divine healing slowed it down, but eventually it took hold: it was like nothing we'd seen before."

"Oh." I said, rather stupidly: that explained much. "So how long…?"

"You have been in fever for a full day, then recovering in deep sleep for another one." she said while arranging my blankets, swaddling me even more. "That's the bad news." she added, seeing my dumbfounded expression. "The good news is that you are making a full recovery…plus we were able to analyze the poison remaining on your armor and have an antidote brewed up by that wizard friend of your uncle."

"Sand." I said slowly. "His name is Sand." I remembered him from back when we arrived to the Sunken Flagon the first time: he was way too haughty and full of himself, even for an elf, but he was also, undeniably, much smarter and higher trained than to be stuck here in the Docks District.

"Yes, him. " Elanee made a face. "Annoying, really, but he knows his craft. Next time we encounter any of the githyanki, we will know how to handle their despicable tactics." Elanee had a deep, abiding hate for poisons: from what she told me, her father died of poisoned wounds in a long-past battle with the orcs. "It's not plant-based, or made out of animal glands, either…that's why it fooled all of us, including your healing powers." She clapped her hands together. "But we can talk about the details later when you get better…I need to get some food into you now that you are awake. Let me run to the kitchen and see if they have some broth." She slid off my bed and started for the door, talking over her shoulder. "Your uncle was checking on you every hour…he'll be so relieved when I tell him you are back! So will the rest of us: I am sure they will want to see you as soon as I let them know. I will try to restrain them from barging in on you all at the same time, though…"she added with a flash of a grin as she closed the door behind her.

I lay back on my suddenly very comfortable pillow, feeling absurdly relieved and confused at the same time. I decided it was a normal reaction, as I was never poisoned before, and, judging from how bad I felt, I did not want to repeat the experience, ever.

There was a tentative knock on the door. It has begun, then…the inevitable trickle of visitors. It was probably Khelgar, he tended to be a tad overprotective…I heard him calling me 'this little one' in front of his clansmen we've met in the mountains. He probably worried himself half-sick by now.

"Enter." I called out in what I thought was an acceptably strong voice, considering…but it came out as such a rather feeble croaking I did not even think anyone could hear it on the other side of that thick oak door.

"Elanee has informed us you have regained consciousness, my lady. "There was no one in this wide world I knew who would have phrased it that way, except him. I sighed.

"I am back, yes. Do come in, please." He entered, with a strange hesitation in his steps I could not quite place until I noticed that he did not quite close the door behind him.

"Casavir…" I said, realization dawning at me slowly, "I don't think you have to worry about etiquette right now."

He stiffened as he stopped about an arm's reach from my bed.

"It is not proper for a man to be in a lady's room without a chaperone unless he's her husband, or a healer." he said as if reading from rote. "As you are recovered now, my role as a healer no longer applies. Therefore, until the lady Elanee returns, I should not be…"

If that did not bring me fully back to awareness, nothing would have.

"For pity's sake, Sir Knight, this is not the royal court of Neverwinter, and I am, for a hundredth time, no blushing dama in a castle!" I was just about to sit up angrily, when I became suddenly and uncomfortably aware that underneath the six blankets that were about to fall off of my upper body had I done so, I was wearing absolutely not a stitch.

I recovered magnificently, I think, clutching the wool to me tightly and raising myself up on my elbow, then gingerly to sitting. That's when I noticed he was blushing slightly.

"Listen, I am sorry." I was wondering how many times I said that to him already. "I keep insulting you, and I…" Another wave of weakness just washed over me and I found myself gasping for breath.

He was at my side before I could even recover, his arm around my shoulder, easing me back to my pillow in a practiced movement that told me he had to do this many times during his life as part of his duties as a healer-companion. As he did that, his gaze fell on my exposed shoulders and I felt his breath catching. I knew that he'd seen the birthmarks, then, and I knew that, being who he was, he would not be able to think anything else but...

_And, just like that, the memories were back_.

"I am…fine. Fine! Please…" I struggled free and pulled the blankets back. "Just…need to rest." I closed my eyes, did not want to see his face. "I don't want you to…" I took a deep, shaky breath.

"They threw stones at me…" I whispered. "The Mossfeld boys…that harvest. It was so hot and…I did not think about pulling on a shirt with sleeves, just a shift; everyone was working on the fields, even the kids. "The words came out pouring, like never before. I kept my eyes shut tight, the blankets clutched to my chest, my fingers tangled in them like the only safe point in my life right now. I heard the faint scraping noise of the only chair in the room as he pulled it up to my bedside to sit, otherwise silent, listening. "There was…some pointing and whispering and remarks before that, too, I mean, we all pretty much grew up together, my village is a small one. But that day, I slipped away to the stream for a little bit to wash my face, and they caught me alone. They…called me a freak and…a witch, and…other things, and Wyl grabbed me and pushed me to the water, and then Ward started to pelt me with pebbles from the streambed while his brothers kept stopping me as I tried to bolt and shoved me back to the stream…They laughed all the while and said I probably wished my foster-father would be my real dad so he'd come and save me now…Webb got his pocket knife out, and was wondering if he could just cut them out and maybe that would stop me from glowing in the dark and make me normal like the other girls…" I almost could feel that awful, sickening, spiraling feeling in my stomach now as I did then, when I realized that I was all alone, against the three of them, that neither Bevil nor Amie, my friends, were there, when I knew with the crystal clarity of one who is in danger, that this time it was more than just words, that the Mossfeld boys, drunk in the summer heat on some cheap ale their father gave them as payment for their day labor, finally worked up their courage to do something awful to me.

I pulled my knees up and curled into a little ball on my side, just clutching those blankets tight: I felt my tears starting to run freely and small, little sobs rocking my body, and I hated to be this weak, but I had to continue.

"That's what that white scar is, across the one on my left shoulder, you know…Wyl got a handful of my hair from behind, yanked on it, then Webb slashed with the knife…They all were much bigger than I was, they were farmers and field workers from age six, and their parents had more to feed them than Daeghun for me…" Another wave of sobs came, then went. Slowly, I became aware of the silver-blue cloud enveloping me and I knew that as he was sitting there, Casavir was quietly extending his soothing aura over me, without overpowering me or being invasive, but offering its quiet and calm like another soft blanket of comfort, should I need it.

I felt awfully, absurdly thankful for it: literally not since that particular day I have lost my composure this badly. I only had the strength to reach out with a tiny little silver and crimson tendril of my own, much diminished and weak aura and grasp a little corner of it, like a small child would grab at a finger of a hand extended towards her.

"I am not sure how …the birthmarks got warmer and warmer since they jumped me, you see, but then…when Webb cut me, it was like I got on fire all of a sudden, and…there was this rush of feeling…and…" I swallowed. "I remember as it would have happened to someone else, and real slow, too; I kicked Webb in the chest, hard, so I could hear the crack of his ribs…I grabbed Wyl's hands in my hair at the wrist and he flew over my head and landed on the ground and just lay there. Ward looked at me all pale, I could only see the whites of his eyes, he was so afraid all of a sudden, and all he could stutter was: "_Wings… it has wings and a sword…"_ then he turned and run through the bushes so fast he was gone before I could finish screaming…" Another deep breath: I was almost through.

"I never…I never told anyone, not even Daeghun…I just said I slipped on a sharp rock and tore my shift at the stream. He might have guessed, though: he surely recognized a knife cut, and what with the Mossfelds never harassing me again except when they got totally drunk, and only verbally... That was about a week before Aevan, my teacher first came to our village; I was twelve…and that was the day that I started to wish I never had this…heritage. Sometimes when I had really bad… moments, I wanted to try and…finish what Webb started."

I finally felt strong enough to open my eyes: I found him sitting there, right by my side. He had one hand just about half an inch from my face on my pillow, and as I looked up at him, tilting my head upwards, he reached out and smoothed some loose tendrils of my hair out of my face with an exaggerated care and a strangely serious expression on his face that again, made him look like he was much younger.

"That was the first time the god…touched you, right?" he asked, almost in a whisper.

I could only nod.

"I was so scared…" I whispered back. "They…I think they really wanted to hurt me, and…"

"And the power in you responded with His just anger." He nodded, that vulnerability disappearing from his face. Now he seemed fully what he was: a holy warrior or Tyr, strong and powerful and one to draw strength from. "You carry the mark of His hammer and His sword both, with the scale entwined—that means something more than I can even comprehend. You were given a hard path to walk, my lady."

Quite unexpectedly, something like a laugh escaped my lips.

"_You_ tell me…" I felt the tears welling up again, so I squeezed my eyes shut for a second to stop them. "I…thank you." I added, rather feebly. "For listening…and…"

"You are still weak from the poison and the fever." He stood up, withdrawing his hand: I felt, with a pang of regret, that his aura did the same. "The lady Elanee should be back with some hot food soon. You should get better by tomorrow: you are much stronger than you think yourself." He regarded me with that half-tilted gaze of his that reminded me of a large bird-of-prey. "I also, however, must pass you the news: Marshal Cormick came by today to tell us that you have received permission to enter Blacklake and speak to the sage Aldanon there. If you wish, I can accompany you once you recovered." He hesitated for a moment before adding: "I… happen to know the district somewhat."

That moved me again, despite my still weak condition. I realized at once what saying that might have meant for him…and felt that in a strange way, this was his way of reciprocating me sharing the darkest moment of my childhood with him.

"I would like that." I said, with sincerity. "It will be…interesting."

That was mildly put. Ever since I arrived to Neverwinter, I both dreamed about and dreaded this moment, when I finally could learn more about the strange silver shard I carried all the way from West Harbor, and about the one that Uncle Duncan kept amongst his assorted travel junk all these years. They once clearly belonged to the same object, and I could feel strong power emanating from them (enough of it, actually, to knock the wizard Sand off his feet when he attempted scrying both of them at the same time). Their origins, however, were largely shrouded in mystery, the same way my birth, my parentage and generally just about every topic of conversation with my foster-father that did not involve daily chores. To say that Daeghun was keeping to himself was an understatement. I suspected I will be in for a lot of surprises once I got both my foster-uncle and this Aldanon talking.

"By the way…"Casavir stopped by my armor stand and looked back at me, "I know you are probably wondering about your old armor. No offense, my lady, but it was not, perhaps, the best quality…"

"It was not made for me, if that's what you mean." I knew I sounded defensive, but what was he thinking? I did not exactly have either time or the exact funds to upgrade just yet.

"Stock plate mail only takes a paladin that far." he said, using that professional voice I already learned to recognize: when he talked like that I could easily see how Neeshka could get itchy from his aura. "Normally, the chapterhouse armorsmith provides each knight with their suit, fitted to their measurements, so that they don't have to worry about the small but potentially crippling effects of chafing plates, twisted chains and overstrained straps. As custom fitting could have hardly been an option for you, I took the liberty of having a word with Father Prior about it when we met." His mouth twitched into the briefest of smiles. "I reminded him that you were…what is that phrase he is so fond of using…'one of his flock'?" He rapped a finger on the breastplate of the armor. "This one was delivered this morning; still not quite what I actually would be content with, given that it was modified from an existing suit in a rather hasty fashion, but Brother Colm is almost an artist, and he works faster than anyone else I've seen. Your friend the lady Elanee was…kind enough to supply him with your measurements. This will do, for a while."

"I can…pay for my own equipment." I said stiffly. "You spoke about proper etiquette earlier: how does this fit in, you gifting me with an entire suit of armor…?"

"That's your Harborman speaking there, my lady." There was slight chiding in his voice. "There is no offense or breach of proper behavior in accepting this, as a gift of brotherhood in Tyr. And, besides, "he added, "you could take it as a return of the gift you gave me earlier…that cloak is actually more valuable than this suit."

_Ouch_.

"I have so much to learn…"I tried to rearrange myself on my pillow, feeling relieved, embarrassed and thankful all at the same time. "Um: thank you? "I offered tentatively.

"May it protect you on all the dark paths you may walk." He bowed slightly, extremely formal but graceful: when not in full plate, technically every paladin moved with considerable ease, but his movements caught the eye no matter what. I wished I could have had that training that it took to achieve that amount of poise. It was, frankly, a joy just to watch him move…

Some of my thoughts obviously must have showed on my face because as he straightened, and our gaze met, there was this long, awkward pause before he asked, noticeably cooler:

"Yes? Is there something you wish of me?"

I felt like a schoolgirl chided by her teacher for coming to the classroom in a torn skirt. Why was it that no one, not Captain Brelaina, nor Cormick, nor a dozen Shadow Thieves, githyanki, or even those shadow priests could evoke this acute sensation of sinking stomach and inferiority in me than this one man?

Very appropriately, and with suspiciously impeccable timing, Elanee chose to push in the door at this moment, with a steaming bowl of broth and some toasted bread on a tray. I secretly breathed the sigh of relief as she started to fuss around to arrange me in a more upright position so that I can eat, without exposing me for the whole world to see…and when I say the whole world, I mean it, because literally on her heels there came traipsing what seemed to be the entire Inn. Khelgar, Neeshka, Grobnar, Duncan, Sal…even Qara stuck her head in and this time, without the scowling, she actually managed a 'glad you are better'. Will wonders never cease?

But at last, once I accepted everyone's well wishes and managed to get some hot soup in me, Elanee herded all of them out, made sure I was covered from head to toe, and stayed with me until I finished the food and drank one of her herb concoctions (the worse tasting one yet, I hastened to inform her). Then, rearranging the top blanket the tenth time, she flashed another of those secretive smiles of hers at me, and asked:

"So…how do you like your gift?"

"It is rather nice…"I got that far when she started laughing.

"Nice, she says." Her eyes narrowed. "I am assuming gifting magical full plate armors is an everyday occurrence amongst paladins?"

"Like gifting magical cloaks is. He is, after all, a noble: equal recompensing of a gift is like a compulsion instilled in childhood, or…what?" I almost choked on my last piece of toast. "He did not say it was enchanted…although he mentioned something about the armorsmith being 'almost an artist'…"I glared at Elanee, who was mightily amused, it seemed. "What? Is there something I am not getting here?"

"I think that this paladin of yours is way cleverer than any of us gave him credit for." Elanee regarded the armor thoughtfully. "It does not even feel like your old armor. It feels…I am not sure I can describe it--like it would get up on its own and smite evil all day." She tentatively touched it, and I sensed that she tried to get a feel of its magic.

I had to admit, now that I had a chance to take a closer look, that it was a fine piece of work. _Actually_, I thought_, strike that—that is one of the best pieces of armor I have ever seen._ Most of the surface was covered with the ridges of fine fluting to deflect arrows and bolts, and I could see delicate lines of etching on the remaining surfaces: as I concentrated, they briefly sparkled up with magical energy in front of my Other Sight. The pauldrons, normally rather exaggerated on a Tyr paladin's suit, were curved and gracefully small: the elbows and knees likewise. The steel was polished to first grade mirror-shine and all the tiny clasps and pegs and interlocking parts were freshly oiled with something that smelled faintly of lavender. To top all of that, the whole thing was lined with what looked like pale purple velvet, almost perfectly matching the color of my eyes.

_Yes, it was just a little something…sure._ I felt my mouth curving upward the first time since I regained my consciousness with an actual smile. _Oh, I can't wait to get out of this bed and try it on!_


	6. Lead Me Through The Fire

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**Disclaimers:**

**As you probably already guessed, English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections.**

**There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things.**

**I write to music; there is a 'soundtrack' to each of these chapters. In case anyone is interested, this one's included the following: _Fire Falling From the Sky_-from the _Underworld _soundtrack album, _The Day Is Yours_-from the soundtrack of _Henry V_, and _Fallen_, from _Afterglow _by Sarah MacLachlan (and yes, this latter was used to more than just this chapter)…**

**Chapter Six**

Ye gods, that old man could talk. I mean, I had my fair share of long-winded speakers back in West Harbor—take Orlen, for example, once you got him talking about the weather…or Georg with his tall tales of adventures and the ever-famous swamp elf (I asked Elanee about that once and she said our local militia leader probably sampled some interesting mushrooms when no one was looking)… Aldanon, now, he deserved the grand prize when it came to taking the longest and most meandering path to arrive at an answer to a rather simple question such as: "What can you tell me about these silver shards?"

I tried to push a few strands of stray hair out of my face, but I had to realize yet again, that with the full gauntlets on, this was not exactly possible. _Fine_. Frustrated, I tried to blew them out of my face.

"Not to sound impatient or anything, but what are ye doing, lass?" asked Khelgar, watching me with something of a puzzled expression on his face. "Is that part of some ritual paladins do, or…?"

"No Khel, I am just thinking, and being irritated by my hair." I sighed. Sometimes, just sometimes, I wished he would stop fussing over me so. "This building is…impressive, but too quiet."

I glanced up at the façade of the Archives towering in front of us. On top of the massive staircase leading up to it, the bronze-covered doors looked slightly open. I did not much care for that, so I turned to one of our escorts, a burly Watch sergeant.

"Is that how they normally leave it?" I indicated the gates to him.

"I reckon they supposed to be closed today…"He scratched his chin under the strap of his helmet. "That's weird…them caretakers are usually pretty good about keeping us non-highfalutin' folks know that the Archives don't receive visitors—that door is like an invitation to get in…"

"Or was left open by someone who really wanted to get in and did not care that they might be discovered." I finally managed to get one of the gauntlets off, took care of my hair, pulled on the liner of my helmet that I pushed back to my shoulders while in Aldanon's house, and then got the helmet back on, closing the visor down with a clang. I even managed to get the gauntlet back on, too, without help.

"I think we should proceed with caution." I announced to no one in particular, but everyone in my party in general.

"You think?" Neeshka snorted. "Want me to sneak around a bit and let you know if the coast is clear? If there is someone there up to no good, we have just too much clangety-clang goodness here to surprise them." She winked at me.

She was right. At the thought of Khelgar in his heavy dwarven armor tiptoeing around those columns…not to mention two full battle-clad paladins, I felt a giggle escaping, and firmly clamped down on it. Being this giddy probably meant that there _was_ something up there: I never failed to get all giggly before an armed confrontation. Odd, that, but by now I learned to control it…to a certain extent.

"Sergeant, you better send the constable here back to the post letting them know something isn't right." I looked at our escorts: they trailed us from the district gates to Aldanon's house, then from there to here. I suspected this was not how they treated everyone, and the fact that we only got two of them, me being a Watch officer, was reassuring. We received quite a bit of attention since we crossed the gates, and not necessarily the good kind.

Well, I was going too easy there. More like the 'tight-lipped-stare-whisper-whisper-nose-in-the-air" kind, or the "armed-bodyguards-in-even-tighter-circle-around-lace-cuffed-nobleman" kind…then there was the "hand-over-delicate-mouth-two-eyes-forming-huge-circles-spinning-around-running-back-to-the-house"type, too. That last one was a slender blonde dama spotting Casavir, so I paid particular attention, including the coat-of-arms carved above the doorway, just in case.

"Right you are, Lieutenant, ma'am." he nodded; I never met him before, but I already liked him, a lot. He was calm, competent, respectful and quick on the uptake. I guess you needed that for a long-term posting at Blacklake. He just looked at the constable next to him, and that was all it took to send the young man almost running back on the street towards the gate. "Will you be needing me in there?"

"Just keep an eye open out here, Sergeant, if you will, in case someone tries to sneak out. We'll see if there's anything amiss in the Archives and report back." I nodded to Neeshka who already started up on the stairs. "We are moving in, ladies and gentlemen, so saddle up."

'Very funny." Khelgar puffed as he checked the handle of his axe. "Making fun of the dwarf, are we?"

"I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about, Khel." I felt I was suitably aloof. "I believe I was merely making a metaphor for 'check your bloody gear before running into possible dangers, even if it's unlikely anyone tries to cut our necks amongst a pile of dusty books'. Happy?"

"Always." He snorted. "Especially when you're being a smartass, Little One."

"Less talk, more action." I swatted at him, carefully. "I bet that's what all those ladies told you back in the clan halls, too…"

"Come on now, lass, don't make jokes like that, they taint your paladin aura…"he growled, as he and I started to follow Neeshka.

"I am hanging out with the wrong crowd and at the wrong inn for being dainty." I risked a quick glance at Casavir: he was so quiet all the way that I literally almost forgot he was there for a moment, especially since the old pre-battle banter was back with my oldest traveling companion. "Some company excepted, of course."

"I thank you, my lady." Oh good. He was listening, and did not mind. Or did not want to say…whatever, I had no time for this, not really. Something just did not feel right here: and these feelings were justified too many times in the past months for merely ignoring them, thinking that if it's the nobles' quarter of the city, it clearly all should be entirely safe.

_Right, that's obviously why they locked it down the first place_, I told myself. And that's why we had to have an escort with us when visiting with an absentminded old wizard, who occasionally guest-lectured at the Academy and was wealthy enough to afford a huge mansion very close to the Temple of Lathander.

On the top of the stairs, Neeshka emerged again, signaling using the hand signs she taught me.

"Shit." I said, tensely. "They got bodies in there, she says. Curved blade wounds; might be more gith…"

"Aw, crap, lass." Khelgar shook his head so his fierce red beard got flying. "I bet they probably learned somehow about ol' Jerro's records being in there, and want to put their hands on it first..."

"I thought you…took care of those outsiders." Casavir loosened his sword in its scabbard, drew his palm over the edges a couple of times—faint silver and blue pulsed along the edges as he readied one of his spells. "In that warehouse?"

"We took care of that group, plus their portal, true." I nodded, while I signaled back to the tiefling that we were moving in. "But who knows how many of them infiltrated the city before it got shot down? Let's go." I added, glancing at Elanee who already murmured some of her own incantations of defense.

"I'll just…camp here." The sergeant leaned against one of the lampposts. "You look like you know what you're doin' anyways, and this way I can talk to whomever young Ned gets here from back at the Watchhouse."

"You do that." I always liked sensible men who knew when to stay out of trouble. "We, however…"

"Yes, yes, yes. I know. Saddling up and all that." Khelgar sure was grumpy today; I attributed it to the fact that I just been declared officially healed this morning, and here we were, again, looking forward to more mayhem with most likely the very same villains that used poison to almost kill me.

Except that now we were more prepared. For instance, I had brand new and shiny armor…I had to let a happy little sigh out as we neared the gate where Neeshka was waiting, blending into the shadows. Now I started to understand the ease with which Casavir moved when in full battle gear: if this was any indication, I could hardly wait when I can actually go to an armorer for a real custom fitting suit. It seriously felt like I could do cartwheels in this one (no one had to know that I actually tried it in my room this morning). Now, don't get me wrong, my old armor saved my life more times than I could count, but clearly, it was way past due for upgrading. And this one…ooh, this was _nice_. I could barely feel the weight. It did not creak with every step. It smelled faintly of lavender and cedar. And yes, the velvet lining was very, very lovely.

I had no chance yet to test its other abilities, but I was sure I'll get the opportunity as soon as we cross the threshold of the Archives.

"Two dead inside…"Neeshka said as she materialized by my side. "Looks like Archive people: wearing funny robes and such. Clean cuts, on the throat, slash on the back, from behind. All quiet in the first room now."

"Cowards." Casavir muttered, adjusting his helmet. "Archive Caretakers have no weapons, no defensive magic…this is serious indeed."

"Better get to it, then." I agreed with him: this brought the acrid taste of anger in my throat too. "We see if anyone is still alive there first, then engage the hostiles, then look after what we came from. Agreed?"

Nods all around.

"Good, then." I took a deep breath. "May Tyr guide our blades to bring justice for all those who had fallen." I made the sign of the sword towards my companions, and let some of my energies to envelope them as it briefly shone in the air, bestowing the god's blessing on us.

The contrast between the sun-drenched colonnade outside and the cool entry hall of the Archives was a bit jarring. But Neeshka was correct: those two bodies were slain from behind, the wounds matching my memory of the paths of those alien weapons by now I committed to memory after so many encounters. And those contorted features spoke of agony great enough to pull their lips off their teeth in a snarl, twist their limbs into a parody of some wild dance…

"Poison." My voice was hollow. "Move carefully…"

That's when I heard the scraping noise from behind a large desk standing nearby, just a few feet from the body of the second Caretaker. I tried to move, but, yet again, Casavir was faster; I saw him spin, in one incredibly long half-jump get in front of the desk, thrust his arm out, bend forward…

_Ye gods, the man has strength_…

He straightened, grabbing the cowl of the robe of a pale, shivering and frightened Caretaker, who very obviously was hiding there from those who killed his brethren.

"Shh…calm down, Brother." He put a gloved palm in front of the old man's mouth before that could have started screaming and lowered him to the desk. "We are here to help…are you hurt?"

"They…they came out of nowhere…"the Caretaker mumbled. His white hair stuck out in disarrayed tufts, his robe was dusty and he definitely smelled like he let go of his bladder in fear. I did not blame him: if this was the usual hunting squadron of the gith, they had bladelings with them too, and those used to give me nightmares during the first weeks of my travels out of the Mere. "They just…came out of the air…Perrel and Suvic …they killed them as we run…I…"

"He's not hurt." Casavir announced to us, and then turned his attention back to the old man, leaning over him and looking into his eyes intently. "Brother, this is important: how many? Where did they go?"

Neeshka and Khelgar moved to the end of the hall where the corridor leading to what I supposed was the actual storage rooms started, while Elanee continued with her preparations: I felt a shimmering halo of energy surrounding me as one of her protection spells took hold.

The Caretaker seemed to regain some of his senses.

"Tyr's paladin…of course…"he whispered. "Then they know that the Archives were attacked…"His eyes found me. "And another one…surely the gods heard my prayers. I am sorry…I don't know how many: some had green skin and yellow eyes, some had these metal spikes all over…"He shuddered.

"A githyanki huntband with bladeling mercenaries." Elanee pursed her lips. "Let's hope this is the last one in the city…"

"You need to leave now, Brother." Casavir helped the old man off the desk, grasping his elbows carefully. "There is a Watchman outside; you have to tell him what happened so the Nine can be informed. An assault of the Archives is something that needs to be brought to their attention."

"Sure, lad." Khelgar was practically hopping on his feet. "Let me know when you are done with pampering the old man, and we can go and bash in some gith heads…I'm itching here for some good fight."

"We are getting there, Khel." I moved towards the corridor, pausing to rest my hand on the caretaker's shoulder. "Listen: we are looking for some documents about the court wizard Ammon Jerro. Master Aldanon sent us: could you let us know before you leave how we can retrieve them?"

The old man swallowed: he was still frightened, but since he currently was standing directly in the aura of two paladins, he managed to get a hold of himself. You could almost see the thoughts behind his enormous forehead.

"Jerro…Jerro…Court wizard, you say? All material related to the court records is sealed in the central room, special access only…Aldanon sent you, eh? Man comes around every day almost, or sends his assistants, parchment full of requests all the time, keeps us running…Not that we mind; there are so few coming around here…"He shook his head. "So how can we get into the court records' room, Brother?" asked Casavir, gently. "This is rather important."

"You need to be one of the Caretakers for that…we have _this_ to get in…" The old man, I noticed, wore something loosely draped over his neck, like a cowl—Casavir lifted him by it from under the desk. It looked flimsy and shimmering, but obviously it was stronger than it looked—I felt some kind of magic pulsing from it.

"The 'Takers veil." he explained. "All three of us had ours, so we can access all records and see all the rooms…we have chambers in this building no one but us knows about, not even the Nine. They pass from one generation to another, and…"

"Can we speed this up a bit? "Khelgar rumbled up. "The gith won't wait patiently for you two finish chatting…"

The caretaker's mouth formed a neat, albeit slightly wrinkled 'o', before he spoke up, hesitantly.

"You could…take poor Perrel's…"He indicated one of his fallen fellows. "I don't think he'll need it. Go straight to the central hall: there will be four chambers around the special records' room. If you are not one of us, you'll need to answer some questions in each of those rooms: it's an additional safety measure." he explained. "Some of those documents in there are…sensitive."

"Yeah, like the one we are trying to get to, old man. " said Khelgar, clearly running out of whatever patience he might have had. "So tell us: what kind of questions?"

"There are some books on the shelves containing the answers. The door will open once you find all the correct ones." He hesitated of a moment. "I need your word that you will only look for what you need and…you will keep our city's secrets safe. There is…a lot there that might be…harmful if ever came to light." His eyes wondered over to where Casavir stood.

"I swear that I'll keep Neverwinter's secrets safe." The words came to my lips before I could even think, and I saw the gratitude in the old man's eyes.

"Thank you." he said quietly. His wrinkled hand came up and patted my steel-clad shoulder. "Anthar Korranos thanks you."

The Caretaker started towards the doors, surprisingly fast. "You'll be able to see the right books kind of…glowing once you have the veil on. May the gods guide you."

"And you, Brother…now hurry!"

We all watched him hobble out, through the half-opened doorway: I was glad he made it, but did not look forward to not only hunting githyanki and bladelings, but solving puzzles and watching out for glowing books…

"Here." Khelgar, the ever practical, thrust his hand at me: he already retrieved the cowl from one of the bodies. "This one has almost no blood on it."

"Thanks, Khel, for being ever so thoughtful. " I said dryly. "Now, then…Sir Casavir, if you would help me with this helmet…"

"My lady?" he stepped closer. "You will wear the Veil…?"

"Well, someone has to, right?" For the third time today, I shook my hand out of my gauntlet and put it down on the desk. "It is unlikely that it will hurt me…"

"I don't think so, either. " He busied himself with the back strap of the helmet at my neck, had it loose in seconds with the practice of all his fighting years. "However, I doubt is has serious defensive abilities. It is a…an archivist's tool, after all."

"A risk I have to take, for now." I shook my hair out: as the liner came off, it dislodged the pins that secured it to the top of my head, and they fell on the floor. "And if no one here will tell just how stupid I'll look with that thing…"

"My lips are sealed." he announced from behind me, as he bent over and retrieved my hairpins. I caught a surprised look from Elanee, but decided to shelf it for later. "You will need these…" he said as he handed them to me. "And a suggestion, if I may, my lady: as we have to come back through here once we got what we want…I would leave your helmet so it does not hinder you."

That seemed sensible. I placed it on the desk, next to a large bound tome and an inkwell, and had to smile: that must have been the visitor's book, and it was unlikely either us or those we hunted will record our presence here.

The Veil of the Caretaker slid over my head with a weird, silky feel; I secured it with my hairpins (it was amazing just how sensible Casavir was), put my gauntlet back on, and looked around.

"Whoa." I said and held up a hand. "Hold on…this will…need a moment getting used to."

That was mildly put. As I turned my head, I started to understand why Casavir might have been a bit reluctant letting me wear this thing. Although the veil was almost completely translucent in front of my face, there was some faint rippling effect of the fabric that moved and changed every time I exhaled. That was, however, only part of the disorientation sweeping over me.

There were lines that glowed on the walls, on the floor: runes of warding, of shielding, faded glyphs of knowledge…almost all of them broken, their power leeched out in ages past.

"There is so much power here…"I whispered. " And it all leads to the center…"I turned so I faced the corridor: yes, definitely, there were lines running all along its walls, getting stronger and stronger the further away from this hall. 'Well, then. "I steadied myself as much as I could, considering. This will _not_ be as easy as I thought, after all. "I am all right now." I said, and I hoped my voice sounded sincere and strong. "Let's take care of this."

Two hours, several rooms of books and not one, but three warbands of githyanki later, I distinctly did not feel like we actually took care of "this", whatever it was. In fact, I rather felt like the events catching up with me were spiraling out of control and all I could do is trying to grab for some straws in the hopes that something will stay between my fingers.

"Shandra…Jerro? "I looked up from the slightly blood-stained tome we just managed to identify amongst the broken remains of one shelf in the secret archives room. "Of Highcliff?"

"The lass with the barn the lizards burned?" Khelgar shook his head and spat out some blood on the floor. "Don't get your hopes up, goat-girl, not dyin'yet…just a tooth. " He shot a warning look towards Neeshka who looked thoroughly disgusted. "You tellin' me that book says she'd be this court wizard's brood? A farmer who runs grain wagons?"

"Hey, easy there. " I said, not lifting my eyes off the page where I found the record. "I am one Watch lieutenant who happens to be a swamp-dweller, used to help horses give birth and gather reed…And yes, that's what it says here." I stretched my legs on the floor where I was sitting (all furniture in the room was thoroughly trashed) and rested the tome on my thighs. "Country estate of one Ammon Jerro, mage in the service of Neverwinter, deeded to his son Lew Jerro and his wife, the Lady Wynna Athlridge," I read, brushing my finger along the half-faded lines, "along with their infant daughter, Shandra, by said mage…witnessed by the High Justiciar of Neverwinter and signed by all."

"Standard summary of a donation charter." With a heavy thud, Casavir sat down next to me, and put his helmet down from the crook of his arm. "All clear; it appears the ones in this room were the last." His eyes scanned the page spread across my lap "There should be a copy of the full text on the next page, my lady."

"There should?" I flicked a page over—and stared. "Well…it was ripped out."

"Hasty work, too." Casavir combed his hair back from his forehead, and tapped his chin with a finger, thinking. "But why would the githyanki do that? They already had what they needed, that's what that priestly looking leader of theirs said before disappearing…"

"Maybe it was not them." I continued to stare at the page: my thoughts were racing. "If we can believe Aldanon, and I see no reasons why not, this Jerro was extremely secretive about his research into silver swords, and the location of his private retreat."  
"Like wizards in general." Elanee nodded. "You think it was Jerro himself…?"

"I don't know…" I said slowly. "Would this be something plausible, the purging of one's family records from the Archives, under the Caretakers' very nose, you think…? "I turned to Casavir: after all, he was from here. If anyone could offer any insight, it was him.

His face was set into a rigid mask, totally avoid of expression: frankly, it was frightening just how much was _not_ there. I sank back, my mind reeling: was it something…?

Then my words echoed back to me, along with the events of the past couple of days…

"…_the purging of one's family records from the Archives_…"

"…_His blood is pure, and ancient, and very, very proud…"_

_The faded lines of a coat-of-arms on that oxblood leather bag…_

_Casavir leaving our breakfast table at the exact same time when Grobnar started on that stupid ballad…_

_The face of that woman, blonde, high-cheekboned, slender and expensively clothed, looking at him from the doorway of that mansion we passed, deadly pale, with trembling crimson lips…_

_The face of the old Caretaker, with the same haunted expression, as he looks at Casavir after I swore to keep the secrets of the city buried within the Archive's vaults…_

…"_Under the Caretakers' very nose…"_

"Yes. "His deep voice yanked me back to this ruined room, smelling of musty books, sweat, alien blood, spent spells and past secrets. "I do think it's possible my lady." He avoided my gaze, concentrating instead on that page: I could see two faint red spots burning just under his cheekbones. "Athlridge…that family came from Athkathla, if I recall; got their noble title for some successful trade route negotiations for the Crown."

"That's amazing!" Neeshka bounced back from the corner she was busy looking at some small gemstones she found hidden in a box. "I mean, I knew Tyr's paladins were well-versed in matters legal, considering their role as justiciars, but remembering obscure noble families and their history…That's pretty impressive. Where the hells did that come from?"

"Neesh…"I started out, feeling distinctly uncomfortable with this whole situation, but he put a hand on my arm, stopping me right on my tracks. His deep, deep blue eyes bore into mine, and I felt just for the briefest second his silver-blue aura blazing.

"It is all right, my lady. "he said quietly. I swallowed. "That was a direct question, and… we never lie."

Yes. I knew. I was just afraid. Which was almost laughable when one thought about it: we just fought our way through a bunch of alien creatures from another plane of existence, chasing after the silver shards I carried that, it turns out, were parts of some holy relic of a sword they lost. Some of them were right now probably trying to race towards Highcliff, that farm where the newly discovered descendant of Ammon Jerro lived.

On the other hand…I had to realize that, just like in a battle, I could strike first here as well.

There are more ways to save one's companions than simply protecting them from enemy blows.

"You know, Neeshka…"I said lightly, sweeping the register off my lap and climbing to my feet, resisting the urge to dust off my rear (you did _not_ do that in full plate), "unlike you and I, the good Sir Casavir here actually had an education. Come think of it," I pulled that blasted Veil of the Caretakers off my head at last and started to pick my hairpins out, "since you had been raised by monks, even you might have the advantage of me in that regard. " I shrugged. " Neverwinter's well-to-do can't afford not to learn about their potential allies and enemies and whatnot, I suspect, so they make them learn long lists of boring historical events and who fought whom where and such." I tried to make Neeshka understand that this subject was over with and was, on the long run, marginal. _Nothing to see here, move along… _using the old Watch phrase. "Who knows, it might come rather useful as we navigate in these increasingly deep waters here…I mean, look at us: in Blacklake, nearly a stone's throw from Lord Nasher's palace! You could finally have one up on Qara." I saw my tiefling's eyes light up, and I knew I won.

"And now, I think it is time to get back to the Flagon and get ready for a lengthy journey." I clapped a hand on Khelgar's shoulder. "Thanks for that spectacular save back there on the corridor, Khel…you must really teach me that backhanded swing one day."

The dwarf grinned happily.  
"' M afraid it only works with a battleaxe, lass…but maybe we can work something out. It's a long way to Highcliff, and you would not want to get bored."

Somehow, I suspected that boredom will not be an option. And, as usual, I was right.

I hated that.


	7. Chanson de la Heure Bleue

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**Disclaimers:**

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections.**

**There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things.**

**I write to music; there is a 'soundtrack' to each of these chapters. In case anyone is interested, this one's included the following: _The Boar's Head _and_ Upon the King _from Kenneth Branagh's _Henry V _soundtrack (by the awesome Patrick Doyle), and _Chanson De l'Heure Bleue_ by Andreas Vollenweider from his album _The Book of Roses. _On the ballad, see note #4 to Chapter Four earlier.**

**I am well aware that my version of Casavir's past is significantly different from the one that the developers planned but scrapped. Since it never made it to the final game version, I did not feel compelled to follow that abandoned story idea, which, frankly, I felt was rather dissatisfying to start with.**

**And, finally, and regretfully, I do not own any of the main characters (although I do have pieces of armor and the man who wears them on occasion). Arrighan is mine, though.**

**Chapter Seven**

First off, the travel was not boring, because it hardly took any time at all. Neeshka spotted the stupid portal quietly shimmering in a corner of the central room about a minute after I announced to everyone that we need to get back to the Flagon. That did not exactly speak highly about some of my abilities--but by now they were well aware that I was…well, let's just say, _challenged_ in some areas.

"Poor lass can be lost on a wide clearing with a clear path leading out on a bright summer day." explained Khelgar patiently to Casavir when I returned from retrieving my helmet from the entry hall.

"I am sure he _noticed _it by now, Khel, but thanks _so_ much for making sure." I said dryly, while I scrambled to find a piece of clean parchment to scribble on. I wanted to leave a note here in case the Watch showed up. "I am touched how much you are looking out for me."

Khelgar was right, of course: I was painfully aware of just how heavily I relied on others even for such simple skills as finding north or getting out an underground crypt without stumbling through my own footsteps three times. Neeshka was surprisingly good-natured about it and never brought it up: Khelgar, on the other hand, was mightily amused by this shortcoming of mine and used every opportunity to announce it to the wide world.

"Never mind, Rig." My tiefling companion waved her tail cheerfully at me. "That's why I am here…because Mr. Runty, however loud, could hardly be expected to spot anything that was higher than his head, after all." She regarded the shimmering curtain of the portal ahead of her. "So are we going through this?"

"We can hardly do otherwise." Casavir was busy adjusting my helmet's straps again: his patience was never-ending, apparently, and I made a firm decision of learning from it. "It is obvious that the remaining githyanki used this to reach their intended target--if we delay any further, who knows what might happen to this friend of yours."

"Hardly would call her a friend." I murmured, checking on my sword straps. "Thanks…" I said rather absentmindedly to Casavir and stepped towards the portal. "Last time we'd seen her, a bunch of lizardmen burned her grain barn down while we were asking for directions standing in her yard…if I recall, and we did not exactly part under the best circumstances."

"A granddaughter of a court wizard as a farmer." Casavir shook his head. "I suppose I should not be surprised…After all, here am I…" This last one was said so low than only I could hear it.

I cast a sharp glance at him, but decided not to push it. Scion of a high noble family that he undoubtedly was, he probably did not exactly feel that tying his fate to a rather ragtag group of adventurers on all kinds of bizarre adventures was the best thing that happened in his life. And the last of these adventures, commencing immediately, was to jump through a portal of utterly unknown proportions, created by an outsider wizard with murderous intentions towards a grain farmer whose only value for him was that she possibly carried the secret of her grandfather's long-lost hideout…No wonder Casavir was driven to sarcasm.

"Well, then…" I shrugged. "I suppose we'll never know unless we try it, right? " I bowed lightly towards Neeshka. "If your infernalness would not mind me going first this time…" Normally I let her take the lead what with her disgustingly good abilities to stay literally invisible and hidden, but who knew how this portal might affect that. "Just to make sure, you understand."

"But of course, your holiness." She grinned at me, the freckles around her nose dancing. "Land the first one true from me, will you?"

"Always, Neesh."

The transition was jarring and rather painful, especially behind my eyes: it felt as if someone had my eyeballs attached to two metal wires that were pulled from behind my head, sawing through my brain in the process. I really hoped I did not have to see that light lunch again that Aldanon served us…I rather enjoyed it the first time.

That unpleasant feeling of not quite here, not quite there lasted only for a second, though. Then I found that my feet no longer stood on the cool pale marble of the Archives, but rather on hard, straw-littered ground under a cluster of the tall, old yew trees I recognized from months back as the ones lining the entrance to the Jerro farm.

Calling it a farm was, however, an understatement. I knew farms-I grew up in a village of farmers. This was more of a manor--the central building had two storeys, a colonnade, a gracefully curving path covered in white gravel leading to it, a lovingly cultivated flowerbed in front of the ground floor windows, only slightly in disrepair when first time I saw it. Now, I barely had time for a glance, as movement caught my eye from the left, where the outbuildings were located.

We came in almost directly on their path, and I could almost see the events just as clearly as if I had been here…

_They materialize in deadly silence, communicating with their hand signals and some kind of mindspeak: the leader, with his odd headdress and slender, tall wizard's staff , indicating to scatter and scout out the barn, the horse stalls, the toolshed in turn, while he directs his attention towards the main building, sniffing the air as if he'd try to discern their prey's scent…_

"She must have been in the barn…" I spun and stared as the sandy-haired, graceful young woman we learned to know just as Shandra (variously known as 'that loony Shandra' and 'y'know, Shandra, she's not quite...snicker' in Highcliff) run across the yard towards her house with half a dozen gith chasing her at full speed.

"That lass can run…" Khelgar said appreciatively, then put two of his fingers in his mouth and whistled. Three of the gith stopped and stared at us. "Hey! You!" the dwarf shouted towards them. "Why don't ye try it with someone with a tad more experience, eh?" As he slung his axe off his shoulder, I caught the gleam in his eye, and saw Shandra disappearing between the columns of her house's entrance, just before those three and what felt about a dozen others suddenly jumping up from the shadows were upon us.

The nearest one took a glance at me, lifted both of his arms and shouted back at his comrades:

"Things have turned out well for us, my brothers -- the girl and the _kalach-cha_ both within our reach! Now get them!"

_That name again…_

I had an urge to just back up towards the barn and let Khel fight this one on his own, but I recognized the symptom as one that rose every time he taunted someone, whether justly or not…it was simply not my preferred style. Just as well; I caught the closest one with a straight thrust forward chest-height, then lifted my left elbow high, twisted my waist, stepped out to the left with my right foot so the next one got the other side of my blade clean cutting into its neck with the full force of my body weight and my armor behind it. Nothing more than what I practiced every day: I never find the githyanki too much of a challenge. The trick always was that they preferred to travel in numbers, and those bladeling allies of theirs were heavily armored.

Some of the runes on my armor briefly lighted up on my arm as they caught a spell directed on me and the protective shield kicked in. On top of what Elanee threw at me a second later, they were more than enough. I heard a snarl on my right and saw that she also managed to conjure up a bear. It towered over two bladelings, distracting them from closing up on Neeshka who was busy enough with her opponent as it was. As I was nearest to her, I half-turned again, in one continuous motion, using a straight downward strike that caught the gith in the side and let the tiefling's slender rapier find its way through the armor into the creature's abdomen.

"Good stuff, Rig." she panted, shaking the blood off her blade. "Ready for more?"

"If we must…"I scanned the area and saw that we pretty much were done here; Casavir finished his opponents with a double cleave that almost cut them in half, and Elanee's bear was gnawing on the face of the last one. 'To the house then, and quick!"

We found her in a small bedroom way at the back of the first floor: it was obvious that she was chased all the way back here through open doors, torn rugs and broken furniture. I kicked some shards of a vase out of the way, ducked a picture of an obvious ancestor with the same sandy hair and curious expression on his face as Shandra, and advanced on the couple of green-skinned outsiders who backed the owner of the place to a corner. Her slightly almond-shaped eyes opened large as she noticed us, but she did not say anything, except straightening up and changing the grip on the shortsword in her right hand and the broken chair leg in her left.

"Bloody bastards!"she snarled. The girl had spirits. "I don't know what you want, but you will not get me without a fight, like poor old Willem and Thaira!"

She must have been referring to her only companions here: we found their bodies in the kitchen earlier. These two, even in death, were trying to give comfort to each other: the man's arm was around the woman's shoulder and her face was buried in his chest. Their wounds in themselves were not lethal—it was the poison that got them, and that made me almost white with rage.

_Oh but I will enjoy killing these…_

I did not even waste time to talk; I felt the justice of Tyr welling up inside of me like a large silver tide of anger: my first cut got a gith's head clean off before they even realized we were on them. Shandra's thrust was short and violent, got one of them in the stomach, and by then my companions were there as well.

"What the hells…?"That's what came out of Shandra's mouth once we dispatched all of his attackers. Her eyes narrowed with recognition as she looked over to Khelgar and Neeshka. "It's…you! The paladin traveling with a circus on a charity mission…"

"Easy there, lass." Khelgar nursed a gash on his shoulder from a glancing blade. "We just saved your sorry life here…"

"I think I was doing pretty well, _dwarf_, without you freaks coming in again and trying to…"She tugged at the sleeve of her blouse where it got torn and frowned." And this is ruined, too!" She glanced up and blushed, rather prettily. "Oh. I did not realize that…"

_Uh-oh. _ I spotted Casavir stepping forward, bowing slightly, and felt like I had some hot liquid poured over my head. Especially when I saw Shandra returning the bow with a curtsy I was sure I never had hopes to reproduce, and which surely was _not _introducing her as a peasant girl. Nope, even I could recognize that her mom was teaching her all the proper court manners before she left her alone to be a hay teamster on the Fort Locke run.

"We will have time for introductions later. " I was sure my voice did not sound too harsh, or if it did, it was due to exhaustion. "Now, if everyone agrees, we'd need to get Shandra out of here before any more…"

"What? Why would I go with you…? "Shandra stared at me with suspicious expression on her pretty face. "I would have been just fine here, if…"

"Look, Miss Jerro." I tried to be as patient as possible. "We came here chasing a horde of these…"I pointed to one of the corpses in front of me with my drawn sword, "from the Neverwinter Archives, where they tracked down the reference to you as the descendant of the court wizard Ammon Jerro. "

"Ammon Jerro? " She continued to straighten her blouse and pat her hair. I gritted my teeth. "He was my grandfather…Or great-grandfather…? I have almost no memory of him; he died when I was a little kid. You telling me these things are after me because…?"

"My lady, forgive me for saying it, but we have no time to lose with talk. "Casavir said and I firmly resisted the urge to punch the air with my fist triumphantly and shout '_Yessss_!'. "The lady Pendwyr is right: your life is in danger because of who you are. We need to take you to safety."

"But I was safe here!!" Shandra was shouting. The short sword shook in her hand and she dropped the chair leg. I've seen this before, in the West Harbor militia: delayed combat shock. Heck, I had it myself after that horrible night the village was attacked. "All went well until you first came here…then my barn got burned, then I did not have any more runs to Fort Locke, then my horses got sick, and now this…"

That's when I smelled the smoke.

"Oh no." I said. "I think we really need to get out of here…" I stepped forward and grabbed Shandra's arm. She yelped. "Sorry, lady, but there is no time…I think there are still some gith here and they try to smoke us out. We can discuss what I did or did not do wrong later when we are not busy getting suffocated."

"Let me go!" She tried to kick me on the shin. "You are _not_ a paladin…awwww!" Yep, thin workboots don't fare well against plate mail.

"We'll discuss that one later, too." I seriously contemplated just punching her out and hauling her over my shoulder but suspected that it would not really enhance my image as the shining paragon of good and justice. A pity: it usually worked well with the Mossfelds…

I sighed. Fine, I will do this the hard way. I let my voice drip into its most icy depths, with the undertones of command I by now definitely mastered.

"My dear, let me say this again: your house is on fire. We are _in_ it. I don't know about you, but I have no inclination to commit suicide today or any time soon; moreover, I took a vow to save lives wherever I can, and since yours undoubtedly needed saving today, I would keep on going with it, if it is all the same to you. "I tugged on her arm, gentler this time. "Shandra, please…these githyanki already killed too many people to get what they want, based on very thin evidence." There was thick smoke pouring into the room now: all that old furniture and drapes in the rooms must have gone up like kindling. "Don't let Willem and Thaira's sacrifice be in vain."

"Damn you." she said thickly. "Damn all of you…They…" She swallowed, then nodded. "Yes, of course you are right. Let's get out of here."

That was a narrow escape, there. Without one of Elanee's more practical spells, the thick smoke and heat that surrounded us would have surely posed more danger than it did at the end…but then, still, there were those who set the fire. By the light of the flames flickering out of the old manor house's windows and rapidly consuming the entire structure, we had to fight yet another time. I was really, really getting tired of this: and if once more, just once more, any of these green-skinned things uttered that strange word _'kalach-cha', _clearly meaning it as a name of some sorts, I was to scream.

"Well, then." I really did not mean to sound as casual as I did, but honestly, the only challenge these githyanki posed was their sheer numbers. In the depths of my mind I was rather sure I was committing the sin of pride, but there was no help: the pattern which got established by now between us was rather overwhelmingly effective. Neeshka with her sneak attacks and Elanee with her summoned creatures and protective spells from the flank and the rear, Khelgar running headfirst into the thick of the fight, while us two paladins did what we did best: smote evil and looked good while doing it; in full plate, never the less. "I am very, very sorry for your house, Shandra." I looked at her: she was standing there, staring up at the flames, clutching her scorched scarf in her hand and I could see tears welling up in her eyes. "I would have preferred it any other way, believe me. But these githyanki were out to get you, just as they were out to get me since…well, months, actually. We tracked them here through a portal." She just kept staring, her chin defiantly jabbing the air, face pale, streaked by tears…I almost started to fish around for a handkerchief, reflexively, like I usually did when Amie got teary back home, but again, had to warn myself that I did not exactly have pockets.

"Here." My sensible druidess saved the day, pulling a clean linen rectangle out of one of her dozen pouches hanging from her weapon belt and handing it to Shandra. "Wipe your face, child." She turned to me, all serene and serious, not a hair out of place. Elves. "Arrighan, you realize we need to take her back to Neverwinter with us for…a longer time, now. She just lost her home; if she wants to rebuild later, that's fine, but right now…"

"Indeed." Casavir stepped closer, the fire dancing complicated patterns on his armor. "Even if she wishes to rebuild, she might need the resources she can only find there."

"Neverwinter?" Shandra blinked and wiped her face with Elanee's linen handkerchief. "You came from Neverwinter?"

"Um…yes…why?" I offered, feeling a bit confused. "You have problems with the place?

"I…"She drew a deep, shaky breath: you could almost see the effort as she pulled herself together. "I don't know…it's not like I really have a choice here, right?" Her shaking hand indicated the manor house in front of us: part of the roof just collapsed in itself and sent sparkles and small pieces of incinerated wood flying. I stepped back, cautiously, and I saw my companions do the same.

"Honestly, no. "I remembered how I felt when Daeghun told me I had to leave West Harbor all too keenly, and emotions welled up inside of me like a tide. "Listen, Shandra…"I started; I felt tired all of a sudden, tired and parched and _old_. "I meant when I said I was sorry. This loss…is terrible. The loss of your friends here is terrible. The fact that these githyanki tried to catch you for a mere possibility of information about your grandfather's research into their holy swords is terrible. I wish I could…work some magic that turns the events another way, but I am no Elminster. Heck, most of the time I can't even manage to keep my form correct when using a sword, and you'd best me in the way of curtsies with your eyes closed. But—sometimes, when we are caught up in events that are too big, all we can do is to swim with the current, keep our heads above the water and pray that we do our best. I am, I guess, one of those who like to make sure the people around me know how to swim and that the sharks are at bay." I shook my head. "I am not sure I can ever make this up to you; but right now, just like you said, you have no other chance. So, even though I know that you probably think it was me and my friends who brought you bad luck, you need to come with us…please?"

"I hate to cut ye off, lass, 'cause this sounds real movin' an' all…" said Khelgar at this point, "but I'd like to really start huffin' and puffin' towards that portal right now. We killed the mage who opened it, and I'm just not sure it'll stay up much too long after that…"

"Oh, crap." I stared at the dwarf for am moment. "Khel, that's an extra keg of beer right there, coming up. I should have thought about it before…" If that portal shut down, we were looking forward to a weeks-long trek back to Neverwinter, with no supplies, no horses…"Run, people!"

And we run; Neeshka took the lead as she apparently was so good at spotting these things; Elanee caught up with her soon enough, given her stride and light armor, Shandra was, as we discovered earlier, a rather fast runner, so she was right there with them. Me, I am ashamed to say, still had to get used to my new armor; plus I was technically still invalid this morning (was that really this morning, I had to wonder, fleetingly), and after a couple of fights today, I was kind of exhausted. So I was the last one…but I got there, just in time to see most of my companions disappearing into the gate…It did not look like it did before—the shimmering was much stronger, and there was a strange humming sound that got louder and louder…

"Your hand, my lady!" Casavir was the last, waiting for me…he pushed Shandra in, then grabbed my hands, pulled me to him, before I could even say anything, and stepped through.

As utter disorientation assaulted me from all sides, and the humming of the portal reached a howling crescendo, my only sure point in the cacophony of sounds, swirling colors and ice cold air was the feel of his hands, one of which kept my head down, in the crook of his shoulder and chest, and the sound of his steady heartbeat while we staggered through, at last, back to the Archives building. The force of the explosion, as the gate finally collapsed behind us in one final, brilliant white flash almost tipped me over, but again, his arms went around me and I stood, at last, on marble floor, slightly scorched, but otherwise blessedly solid.

Once my feet were sure about their footing, I lifted my face from his chest and looked around. I could see all of my companions, in various states of collapse, all over the floor.

"Well, that was…" I croaked…"…interesting. Everyone is all right?"

"We're fine. " Elanee sat up, checking her pouches. "You two look like you had a rough time, though."

"Not nearly as bad as we'd have had if that portal collapsed on top of us. Master Khelgar, I owe you thanks for your timely warning." Casavir transferred his grip to my elbows. "Are you all right, my lady?"

"Fine. " I gingerly got out of the circle of his arms, and did a quick check: feet are steady, legs are not shaking, nothing is hurt worse than a bruise…My armor felt hot, though, and that got confirmed when Neeshka bounced up to pat my arm and squealed in surprise.  
"Hey…awww! It is hot!" She held up her palm where her thin black rogue gloves were smoking slightly. "What the heck is that…?"

"Must have been the magic of the portal backfiring…" I did not see any damage on the plates, but the leather straps looked scorched. "I guess I'll need to have someone to look at it…" I murmured and, irrationally enough, I felt like crying. I only had this blasted thing for a day, and it already got damaged…

I took a deep breath. Well. _That's what armor is for, Arrighan. Get a grip._

That's when I noticed the assorted Watchmen in the room, too. Our old sergeant-escort was there, with a couple of the constables from the Blacklake Gate shifting through the rubble—and Marshal Cormick himself, grinning at me like a Waterdeep cat.

"Sergeant Grimm here told us about you coming here…" Yes he was amused, all right. And leaning against a half-collapsed bookshelf, too. What was it with Watchmen always trying to prop up things with their backs, I was yet unable to discover. "And we found your little note." He held up the scrap of parchment on which I hastily crawled a message before we left through the portal, and pinned it to the same shelf he was leaning against with my dagger.

"Good, then. " I nodded and held out my hand. "Now: can I get my dagger back, please?"

"Meticulous little paladin, aren't we?" He winked at me, but pulled my dagger from his belt and handed it over, hilt first. "Want a receipt, too?"

"Shove it, Cormick." I tucked it back to its sheath on my weapon belt. "Normally I would be all for fun and laugh, but given what happened here I think I lost my sense of humor for the day. Possibly the week." I indicated the latest member of my little band, who was standing there rather lost, rubbing her arms up and down as if she was cold. "That lady there is Miss Shandra Jerro, Marshal, and her farm was nearly destroyed by a band of those things your constables are hauling away right now from here. They trashed this place and killed two of the Caretakers to get information on her whereabouts."

"It seems to me that trouble follows you, Lieutenant." Cormick nodded towards Shandra. "Miss Jerro…a pleasure. Do be careful where you step: as you see, we are still securing the scene."

"Not worse than my farm, _Marshal_, and these were just a bunch of old books." said Shandra with a defiant lift of her chin, her almond-shaped eyes sparkling. "You work for this man, Arrighan?"

"I am a member of the City Watch, yes." I hoped she understood the difference. "And there weren't just old books here, Shandra: two men died the same way your farm helpers did."

She reddened as if I slapped her on the face.

"I am…sorry." she mumbled, turning away. "I did not mean to…"

"Now, now." Khelgar patted her on the arm: a clear but very awkward sign of his concern I've seen numerous times. Despite his gruff appearance, once Khelgar decided you were okay, he stuck with you no matter what. "Arrighan, we need to get her to the Flagon to get some rest. And soon, too…"

"Of course…but I need to…" I hesitated for a second and then turned to Casavir." Will you see to it while I make my report and tie off the loose ends here, Sir Casavir? I am sure Duncan will make sure everyone has some hot food and clean clothes, and…" I fumbled towards my beltpurse, "…I am also sure he will charge very reasonable prices, so let me…"

"That will not be necessary, my lady." A wry smile played around his lips for a second: why was he amused, I could not fathom. "I can take care of whatever your esteemed uncle's demands are from my own funds…we can argue about it later if you wish." He looked around at our merry little band, and inclined his head towards Shandra. "Shall we go, then?"

As Cormick offered no objection, they left, oddly crestfallen. Even Khelgar looked like he was on the verge of collapsing; Neeshka gave me an awkward, one-armed hug before leaving, whispering 'thank you'; then Elanee pressed something in my palm, folding my gauntleted fingers over it, then turning and gliding through the door before I could say anything.

"You got an odd assortment, there." The marshal remarked, following them with his eyes. "So: what happened? I have never seen you this …'out of sorts' would be the best way to describe it." He finally pushed himself off from leaning against the shelf. "I know just what you need, though…we have coffee at the Blacklake watchpost, and enough paper and parchment to supply a gang of wizards for a week—they _love_ reports here. We can sit down, one of the lads can get you coffee and you can write up that report the same time you brief me on this mess." He vaguely indicated the several gith and bladeling corpses, the scarred furniture and books, the pools of alien blood. "We also have the last Caretaker there, still recovering, so at least Captain Brelaina will get a nice meshing account of events-- when she bothers to read all that crap, that is."

"Glad the old man made it…" I opened my palm and looked at what Elanee gave me: a tiny little vial with faintly blue, shimmering liquid in it. _Once a healer, always a healer…_ It looked like one of her restoration potions; I never questioned her judgment in this regard: if she felt I needed it, even though I did not, I deferred to her. I uncorked the vial and gulped the thing down: it always tasted faintly of mint and thyme with Elanee's stuff, and left a nice tingling sensation at the back of my throat. "What was his name…Anthar?"

"Yeah…the last of the Korranos'. " Cormick shuddered. "Poor man…ugly story."

"Why…what happened?" A vague interest stirred in me, like a sleepy undercurrent, as we made our way towards the exit. The place by now was positively swarming with the Watch; I was sure they found enough things to keep them here for quite a while.

"It was before even I came to the city, but some still talk about it…" Cormick shrugged. "I don't exactly know all the details but there was something about the head of the family discovering his much younger second wife with some commoner and killing him in single combat…Old name, one of the founding families in Neverwinter, apparently. Anthar was a younger brother sent to serve as a scholar in the Archives."

"Ah." I said, and that sleepy undercurrent started to throw up sediment. Snippets from a song…how was it?

"_Saying "Do you like my feathery bed? And do you like my sheets?  
And do you like my lady wife, who lies in your arms asleep?"  
"It's well I like your feather bed, and well I like your sheets.  
Better I like your lady wife who's here in my arms asleep."_

I caught myself humming it: Cormick looked at me sharply.

"Yeah, that's the ballad they made out of it…where did you hear it?"

"Grobnar was playing it the other day…I did not know it was connected to any specific event here…and so recent, too." I tried to keep my tone even, but my heart started racing rather fast.

"Yup." Cormick nodded. "There were broadsheets out on the street corners in the Docks with the music about a week after the sentence came down announcing the eradication of them from the Books, I am told…"

"Eradication?" I shook my head. "But if it was a single combat, like you said, surely Tyr's justiciars did not…"

"Obviously your bard did not play the entire ballad for you, Lieutenant." Cormick said, as we crossed the threshold of the Archives into the evening lights of Blacklake. "The Lord Darnell Korranos killed his wife, too." Cormick's voice was soft, but clear; he would have made a good singer:

"_Lord Darnell then he took his wife and sat her on his knee,  
Saying, " Do you like the better of us, Matty Groves or me?"_

And up spoke his own dear wife, never heard to speak so free.  
"I'd rather a kiss from dead man's lips than you in your finery."

Lord Darnell then took his bitter sword, to strike a mortal blow,  
Drove it through his lady's heart and pinned her against the wall."

"And that did not sit well with anyone, least of all with the Church of Tyr. The estates and all were confiscated for the Crown faster than the heir could leave town…"

"The heir?" I was sure he could hear my heartbeat now.

"Apparently a son from the first marriage." Cormick sniffed. "Gods, even the air smells better here than down at the Docks; they must be paying some of the Academy wizards for some scenting spells…that's violets, or I am no Harborman. So: ready for that coffee?"


	8. All I Know

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**Disclaimers:**

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections.**

**There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things.**

**I really had fun with the music for this chapter. There is one song for Bishop, one for Duncan and one for Casavir this time, and on the same album, too…Brothers' _Black Stone Tramp: Falling, Mr. Maintenance _and _All I Know_. For good measure, there is one for Arrighan, of course: _Time To Go _from the _Delirium _album of Cirque Du Soleil.**

**Finally, and regretfully, I do not own any of the main characters (although I do have pieces of armor and the man who wears them on occasion). Arrighan is entirely my fault, though…J**

**Chapter Eight**

There were days when I hated my job. I mean, even working behind the boys on Retta's field gathering sheaves in the summer heat seemed like a better alternative than what I had to endure that evening. Filling out report forms in triplicate for our favored Dread Captain of the Watch was never my favorite pastime anyways; doing it while concentrating on not telling too much about things that happened really takes energy out of me. It is not like lying, I don't do that, obviously, but even just skipping certain facts makes me feel sometimes like I need a good, long, hot shower, and about an hour in the confession stand. Drinking what Cormick called coffee but what really was, after sitting at the corner of an old blackened wood stove with a liberal dose of sugar in it, more of a special type of sticky, bittersweet molasses, did not help either.

I think it is understandable that when I finally got back to the Sunken Flagon, still wearing my full plate, sweaty, sooty, slightly bruised, but alert, awake and just a bit jittery because of that coffee, I was not on my best paladin behavior when someone staggered right into me and almost threw me on the floor. The only reason I did not lose my balance was that I was wearing metal, while this person was not. Mass counts.

At first, I took him to be one of the sailors who frequented my uncle's rather seedy establishment. So I shoved back with my shoulder and growled, with my best West Harbor accent:

"That's no way to treat a lady, 'specially when the lady's armored, so push off, drunk!"

"Oh hello, holy girl." he drawled slowly. Hazel eyes looked up at me from the floor, where he fell; even from there, his breath reeked of cheap ale and smoked meat. "Back from your devotions, my pretty? What made you so foul-tempered, you did not get any today either?"

That tracker. What was his name again?

"Look, Bishop." I said reasonably, using my best soothe-the-drunk voice I picked up back home, working the alehouse for a couple of trade seasons. "I am sorry. You run into me: I had a bad day, and you are totally ass-drunk. Let me help you up, and I'll be on my way so you can piss out your ale and start over. Deal?"

"She bites, too. I am _so _heartbroken." He tried to get up, but it was difficult as his legs were getting in the way. He was really, totally and thoroughly drunk.

"Oh, for the gods' sake…" I said, disgusted, then grabbed his arm and pulled him up. He was heavy, as drunks usually are, but I've done this before. And I would have managed to steer him towards the exit just fine, except that as soon as I hoisted his arm on my shoulder he made a feeble attempt to grope me.

"Plate mail, mister." I said mildly: I would have much rather just kicked him, but I was a paladin, right? So I got his right arm to a classic lower key and he doubled over nicely, his back against the wall with me, furious but controlled, in his face. I _hated_ doing this. "Try that again at any point I am not wearing armor and I guarantee that you won't be thinking about procreation in the future. Understood?"

'Whoa, holy girl." he said slowly, a tad more sober. "Watch the arm, willya? I earn my bread with that."

"Arrighan, you are back!" Uncle Duncan hurried up on cue, with his rolled-up sleeves, towel and customary scowling. "What the…!" he exclaimed as he noticed Bishop, bent into an interesting shape. He had a tendency to cut his cussing short with me around, which was kind of amusing, since I was, personally, all for some good cursing provided the time was right. But Uncle Duncan sometimes still thought I was that little girl he'd last seen in Daeghun's house running around with bruised knees and shiny eyes. Then there was the fact that he probably did not meet many of my kind who could go on swearing like a coach driver, either. "Was he…behaving untowards…?"

"Uncle, what a nice way to put it." I let go: Bishop slowly slid down to the floor. "And thanks, I am not doing too bad. I see you got a hopping evening here, so tell me: did Khelgar need help with killing your ale again, or what got this man so thoroughly sloshed?"

"She does not like me, Duncan." Bishop announced the obvious from below: he sounded, like most drunks who had been shown their place, petulant. "Not sure why: I'd be just the man she needs to make her life more…interesting than evening prayers and incense sticks." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Uncle, why are you letting this man to hang around?" I took a last, disgusted look at him, took Duncan by the arm, and moved towards the common room. "I am used to the drunken sailors being rowdy but this Bishop…he's…" I looked for the right word, "You know I don't toss this around lightly, but he's…the man is just plain evil."

"Never you mind Bishop, lass." Duncan grinned. "I saw that you could handle it, and he is a well-paying customer." He tried to squeeze my arm like always when he was pleased to see me and winced. "Blasted armor…keep forgetting you are a real warrior of Tyr now, little niece."

"Yeah, not acting much like it, eh?" I sighed and sat down at the table he steered me towards. "So what got you in such a good mood?" I glanced around, "Business is booming, that's obvious..."

"Ships in…"he shrugged, but did not try to hide that he was very pleased with the sudden crowd. I spotted Qara carrying a full tray of mugs: judging by her facial expression, she had a rough time.

"Duncan…"I said slowly, "Do you need help here? Qara looks like she's ready to toss a fireball into your customers any minute now." I had an all-too vivid image of scorched sailors and another building going up in flames and I winced. No. One burnt-down house for one day was quite enough, thank you very much. As much as I wanted to just go upstairs and bury my face in my favorite pillow, it looked like my uncle could have used another pair of hands.

"Well…"Duncan shuffled his feet; to his credit, he looked a bit uncomfortable, "I normally would just let you go up, bathe and go to bed, like your companions did, I mean, you had a rough day from all that they told me…but this crowd…" he shrugged. "I don't suppose you could flaunt that Watch cloak and your paladin aura a bit longer here at this table so that they don't get too rowdy…please? Dinner and drink would be on the house…"I noticed that singular 'drink' and could not suppress a smile. Yep, that's was my uncle, the businessman, all right.

"So now I am your bouncer, too?" I was amused; my bad mood started to lift despite the leaden feel of my limbs and that little voice in the back of my mind that whined in a little girl's voice: '_Hot water! Bed! BED_!". "Very well, Uncle; a bowl of stew for an hour of my time. You can leave the drink off; just get me some hot water in a large mug. "I still had a pouch of Elanee's concoction in my room. "Can I at least go upstairs and dump off some of my stuff, or did your start the clock already?" I rapped my fingers on my helmet, its liner and my gauntlets I dumped unceremoniously on the table when I sat down.

"Come on, Arrighan, what am I, a slaver?" Duncan threw up his hands. "Normally you know I'd ask your dwarf to do it, but he was in a bad shape what with his wounds, so…"

I felt the cloud of worry envelop me again. I saw that gash on Khelgar's arm earlier, but somehow I kind of glossed over it.

"Was he all right?" I asked stupidly.

"Well, your druidess patched him up and sent him to rest, so he'll be probably right as rain by tomorrow." Duncan nodded: that knot in the middle of my stomach eased somewhat.

For about five seconds, until he opened his mouth again. "Pers'nally, I thought your fellow paladin looked worse."

"Cas…Sir Casavir? " No, I will not jump down Duncan's throat demanding more information. I will remain calm and collected. "But he was…just fine when I…"

_Oh gods, the portal…_

"Burns…"Duncan said from somewhere far away. I felt I should have accepted that drink, after all. "I sent to Sand for some ointment and of course he used his healing powers too, but still, it looked rather bad."

_My head in the crook of his shoulder and chest, his steady heartbeat, as he shields me from the worse of the blast…His arms around me as the portal goes up in one fierce white blaze right behind his back…The heat that emanates from both of our armor…_

Mine obviously fared better than his; I unselfconsciously let my fingers stroke the delicate etching on my vambrace for a second: those enchantments held back much more than I thought.

"I'll be right back, Duncan." I pushed the chair back, scanned the common room—no sign of imminent violence yet. "Keep that stew hot and this table free. Ah, and...thanks." I leaned forward and kissed his stubbly cheek.

That left him speechless for a moment, so I could make my way to the stairs and up, taking two grades at a time.

I was proud of myself: I went to check on Khelgar first. There was no answer to my knock, but when I leaned against the wood, I could hear his snoring loud and clear. I stifled a relieved sigh: by now I learned to recognize the differences between his snores and in that room slept one dwarf well on the mend. I murmured a silent prayer to Tyr for quick healing and pleasant dreams for my oldest traveling companion—I vowed to check on him first thing in the morning, and turned to the door next to his.

He opened right at my first knock, then took an involuntary step back as soon as he saw me and I swear that he blushed worse than I've ever had.

"My lady…!" He had white linen bandaged all over his torso: outside of that, he only had a pair of pants on… he obviously was awaken from sleep, and did not exactly expect visitors, let alone me.

"I just got back and heard. "I said; the syllables kind of run breathlessly together. "You did not tell me you were..." I shrugged. "I am sorry…I..."

"I didn't…I just…" We spoke at the exact same moment; his blush deepened. "I suppose you better come in." he said with a sigh and stepped aside.

I firmly instructed myself not to stare. That would be rude, and besides, _come on Rig, have you never seen bare-chested men working on the fields in summer heat?_ _Heck, you've seen less clothing on Lazlo when he fell into the bog that autumn night he had too much mead, and he had to be stripped when you and Daeghun pulled him out._

_Yeah, Rig, but Lazlo Buckman did not have the long, lean muscles of someone who fought for his life in the wilderness for the past several years, plus just saved your sorry ass from severe damage this afternoon, so shut up and concentrate on breathing evenly!_

"And you'll leave the door cracked just a notch, right?" I could not resist that. "You know, proper etiquette…?"

He regarded me with an even gaze as if not sure what to say.

"I am assuming that this is a visit regarding my health, my lady, so it would be unnecessary to worry about formalities. "he said finally, and closed his door. Great: this man had a rule for every encounter with me right there in his head, planned out meticulously. I felt suitably chastised again.

He probably got the smallest room in the whole inn; I knew he chose it because of that, too—that was so typical of him. The air smelled like medicine, mixed with Tyr's incense and a bit of wood smoke from the chimney; the tiny window above his bed was open just a bit so the night air could get in.

"So: how are you feeling?" I picked up the pot of unguent from his bedside, from the top of a pile of books and sniffed at it. "Yuck: what did Sand put in this, ground swamp rats?"

"I would not know…" He sat on his bed and combed his fingers through his sleep-tousled hair. "This still feels highly inappropriate, my lady."

"Screw that." I said, even more inappropriately. "Like you pointed out not even a minute ago, if cannot make sure my brother in Tyr is well after he unselfishly shielded me from an exploding trans-dimensional portal, because I worry about proper manners…"I took a deep breath. "There. Now that I shocked you even further, can you please let me know that you'll be all right, so I can go back downstairs and play security for Uncle Dunk for a couple of hours? I need to make sure Qara does not burn up anything: we have some unruly sailors on shore leave."

"You are…" A little laugh escaped him.

"Yes, I know. "I said, impatient, waving my hand. "I am not exactly what you'd call your run-of-the-mill paladin."

"No…"He shook his head. "No, that you are not, my lady." He looked at me with another one of his faint smiles. "I'll mend. 'Tis no worse than what I had back at Old Owl Well at times, and with nothing but my own healing to help me there, by the grace of the god." His right arm had a long, ragged white scar all the way from the shoulder to his wrist; another, straight across his collarbone, vanished beneath his bandages. And those were only the ones I could see with one quick glance. Um. Right. "The lady Elanee is most skilled in helping wounds mend, and the wizard Sand's ointment, while rather pungent, as you so correctly remarked, my lady, soothes burns with admirable ease. I should be ready to wear armor again when these bandages come off tomorrow, never fear."

"I didn't…" I started, slightly bristling, and then stopped. Ah. That 'never lie' part of being a holy warrior.

"All right, I am not worried _now_." I corrected myself. "But I still would like to help." His eyes widened as he understood what I meant. "Now, if you start telling me that it is not appropriate for me to lay healing magic on you just because I am a woman, I'll get really angry." I pointed out. "You've seen me using my powers on Khelgar before, and you never said a word, Sir Knight; and I bet you had no objection against Elanee patching you up either!" I locked eyes with him, defiant. I will _not_ let him suffer just because he's so godsdamn…noble.

"You shame me, my lady." he said softly after what seemed to be an eternity I spent looking into his deep blue eyes. "I should not refuse the assistance of my sister in Tyr, let alone one to whom I owe my life. Please forgive me."

"Are you crazy? I thought you paid that back more than once today." I think I stomped my feet, too. "Enough of this: get those bandages off now."

"Yes, my lady. At once. "That was said in such a perfect parody of a novice's obedient voice (I knew: I had that exact same tone drilled into me by Aevan during my teenage years) that I had to laugh.

"One of my instructors…" he explained, while he was busy with the linen strips. "She was…I think 'terrifying' is the word I am looking for. She was this tiny wisp of a thing, barely up to my shoulders, but when she said: 'you will go and attack that pell again, novice, and this time, you _will_ do it with the perfect form' you did not ask questions, you found your feet moving on their own volition, almost." He looked up, the last of the bandages gone. "There you go…"

"Sweet gods…you are insane." I whispered. That was no simple burn. "How did this look like before it was treated?"

"Worse." he said calmly; he just stood there, his arms held slightly away from his torso, with Sand's terrible goop smeared all over his chest, side, back, barely hiding the fact that large patches of skin were almost gone or black…"I am no stranger to pain. Prayer helps, you know."

I had tears in my eyes. Pain, I could endure; wounds, I understood, dealt and received myself, but this was something beyond that. This was…words failed me.

"Oh, you…you…" I swallowed, gritted my teeth. "Did I mention you were insane?"

His blue eyes were impossibly close as I stepped up to him. As my fingers brushed against his bare skin, I felt his breath catching just a little bit, and I hoped I did not cause even more pain.

Then … then it was my turn to gasp for breath, as my healing magic woke at once, without invocation or prayers like it never happened before…but I had no time for warning, no time for anything, as I felt silver and crimson fire rising in me, uncoiling, irresistible and swelling from the depths of me…My fingers tightened on his shoulders. His skin was so smooth and so warm…

I performed the healing of Tyr before, not once, not twice—it was one of the most important powers granted to His warriors. But this…this was…like the sight of those horrible wounds he hid all this time without a word opened up some reserves in me I did not know existed. Like I had this large pool of energy somewhere that I never used and now when it was most needed it finally all poured out of me.

I watched my fingers trailing silver sparks on his skin as I traced the outline of his wounds, saw the sparks sink into his flesh, and saw his skin reknit, the redness and blackness and oozing disappear…And the waves of silver and crimson were still coming, stretching my skin from the inside out, until I felt I was about to burst, so I had to grasp his shoulders tight and my head went back and my breath came in ragged gasps and…

…and it all was over. My eyes cleared; the silver behind my eyelids was gone, the almost unbearable feeling of _power_ held inside me was gone…

… Just like all his injuries. Apart from his old scars, his skin was all pristine and healed.

I was all of a sudden very keenly aware that I was standing way too close to a half-naked man, with my hands on his shoulders and --gods!—my forehead resting in the crook of his neck, my lips brushing his skin.

"I think that…should do it." I was sure that sounded way too light, but that was all I could manage. "I trust you won't need those bandages back?"

"Hardly." He sat down, hard, on his mattress; the way he stared down at his chest then back at me was…making me even more uncomfortable. "Hardly…my lady. I seem to be…completely healed."

"There you go then." The part of me that was just an utterly confused twelve-year old wanted to run away and hide in my room. The detached, calm, aloof part that I always associated with my celestial heritage, however, clamped down firmly on that urge like a hawk on a mouse, made me lift an eyebrow in a manner that utterly surprised me, and asked in a cool and perfectly measured voice: "Ought there be anything else you need, _my lord_?"

As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew that I should have kicked my celestial heritage hard, paladin or not. The tight-lipped, pale-faced statue that stared back at me from his bed made my stomach knit into a shivering little knot.

_Why in the Nine Hells can't I ever keep my mouth shut?_

"You _know_." he whispered at last. "I don't know how, but you…"I realized all of a sudden that what I took to be anger in his voice was not that at all: it was rather dread and weariness. "I should have known that this cannot be hidden from…you."

"From …me?" I did not expect that. "Casavir…what _are_ you talking about? " Confused, I took a step back towards him, but he—and this caused my stomach to further shrink upon itself—shrank back from me.

"You have the mark of the god on you, twice over…you spoke with His voice to me earlier…and now, you healed me with His silver fire." He would not meet my eyes. "You saw the truth in me…"

"I…followed clues, yes." Now I was getting angry." I am quite good at it. Your coat-of-arms was on that old bag of yours you recovered from Hassim's shop…Father Prior told me you were from an old family…there was that stupid ballad…And I spoke to your uncle Anthar, the Caretaker, at the Watchpost in Blacklake this afternoon in my official capacity. Stop covering your eyes, for pity's sake!" I snapped at him. "I am Arrighan Pendwyr from West Harbor, of unknown parentage and swamp-swelling clothes, lately of the City Watch, struggling to become a true warrior of our god, not some simpering court dama or visionary mystic, high and mighty, floating above the earth. Yes, I pieced the story of your family together, Sir Casavir, Lord Korranos, and I know that you are completely blameless in everything that happened, except _one_ thing: that you gave up the fight and run away to nurse your wounded pride and shame amongst the mountains and thought that by leaving everything behind you can start a new life…except it never works that way, dammit! Especially not for us!" My voice was rising now bit I did not care. I felt that I was shaking with the same force that filled me earlier when I healed him, except that now, instead of healing, it wanted to sear and burn away _something_. Something, once and for all, from this man in front of me. "We never run, we never retreat, we never lie, not even to ourselves; we take up the fight and lift our heads and let those blows fall square on, because our fight is just, and our heart is true, and others count on us! Ponder on that a little bit, Sir Knight, before you walk out on _me_ next time out of pride, will you?"

With that, I turned and was out of there, before he had a chance to respond. To my credit, I did not slam the door on him. _How dares he…!_ I fumed while stomping down the stairs._ How dares he act like I was some special little toy to be revered and treated like an idiot, stupid, simpering courtly flower up on a…_

I found that I was still breathing heavy and was flustered as I returned to the table downstairs.

The table was occupied.

"I had noidea I had that effect on _you_, holy girl…but I am flattered." Now, this was really just too much. Where was Duncan when I needed him? "It's a pity you are not my type… Too much plate armor and persistent aura, you know."

"I am counting to ten." I pulled up the free chair and sat down, not taking my eyes off the ranger. "By the time I finish, you _will_ disappear in a puff of smoke and all that's left is your foul smell and a horrible memory. One…Two…"

"Oh, but you have a brain." Bishop nursed a half-empty mug, and looked like he was ready to kill someone at any second: he obviously sobered up some way or another while I was upstairs. The expression in his hazel eyes gave me the chills. "That might actually tempt me."

"Three…Four." I kept my gaze level, and concentrated on not blinking.

"Provided, of course, that you ever take that stuff off." he mused.

"Five. Six. Seven." I stretched one leg out, the other coiled under, ready to jump at any time.

"And, of course, depending on what's underneath." he leered at me.

"Eight. Nine."

"Holy girl, I've got news for you…I ain't a fiend, I ain't going to disappear, and I like where I sit just fine. So…"

"Ten. " I still held his gaze. "Look under the table, if you would, please."

His hazel eyes unfocused for a second.

"Why would I…?"

I nudged the edge of my dagger just a tad closer to his thigh.

"So that you can tell me how much to cut…" I smiled at him. "It is entirely up to you."

He could not have known that I had much worse when trade caravans came through West Harbor. At least he looked better than most of those men.

And, apparently, he had brains, too. I had to give him that. He threw his head back and laughed, then: surprisingly musical laugh for one with an aura so dark and cold.

"Ah, yes…you won your table back, your holiness." he said when he finally got his breath back. He stood up, too, very carefully. "Very definitely." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "My, but you are a nice piece of work. You sure about being in the right profession?" He snickered at a joke only heard by him. "Well, I would not want to be the first one you had to throw out…so I leave you to your amusement. Gotta be a cold and lonely night for you: I hear your paladin is injured."

"Just get out, Bishop." I was not sure what was in my eyes, but it made him to turn around and leave, with a last mocking bow sketched out halfway through.

_Gods, what a total ass_…

I was thoroughly and completely exhausted by now, and fully ready to go and sleep the sleep of no dreams…but a promise is a promise. Duncan was utterly buried, along with Qara, with actual, paying customers, while Sal's hands were almost blurred, he poured drinks so fast. Yes, it was a good night for the Flagon, by all counts, and hopefully it stayed that way.

I got my stew, eventually. I even got a mug of coffee. I pulled the other chair to my side of the table, put my feet up, and did what my uncle asked me to do, for quite a long while: flaunted my Watch cloak and my paladin aura so the more rowdy customers stayed away from starting anything they could only have finished by flying through a window or being incinerated by a fireball. We did not even have a bar fight, and for that I was grateful—I was not sure how I would have explained that in my confessions. Not that I would not have minded the distraction from my own thoughts: what happened today was enough to make me want to just hunch under my cloak, and whimper slightly into my hands clamped in front of my mouth, like I did when I woke from nightmares sometimes. I did not know if any other adventurers had these moments in the course of their lives, when they really just wanted to go and be… I don't know, farmers, I guess. Me, growing up where I did, had no desire to go back that life, really; but right now, quiet, contemplative life spent in a rural chapterhouse with the monthly regular dispensing of justice under an oak tree sacred to Tyr as the most exciting thing happening sounded like a really good idea.

The new guests entered just as Duncan set a bowl of stewed apples in front of me and hurried back to serve another round of customers before I could even thank him. The apples were steaming hot and studded with cloves, a rare treat. I tucked in appreciatively: even if my mind was troubled, there was nothing wrong with my appetite. I was touched that he still remembered how much I liked those.

They brought with them a sharp smell of rain and salty air of the dockside: I looked up and froze in mid-motion. It was a group of sailors covered in oilcloth cloaks and caps, with their throaty laughs and dark glances directed towards the bar where Qara just slammed her tray down for another round of mugs…but that figure in the midst of them drew my attention, and not merely with his height. I felt like time stopped for a second and then rewound with dizzying speed…

"_Run along now, little Rig…I have better things to do than tell you stories…Go, bug your father! And take my useless lil' brother with you too, not that he'd ever be separated from you anyways…"_

_The laughter carries, out of the house, escorts us all the way to the bridge as we run, Bevil and I, not looking back, knowing that he stands there, in his fancy uniform, hands on hips, chest thrust out, the triumphant military hero visiting his mother…_

Lorne Starling, Retta's son, Bevil's big brother, dressed like some half-orc barbarian now, tattoos all over his face, standing just the same way in the door of my uncle's tavern, surveying the room as if it belonged to him.

The massive, hairless head turned, the colorless eyes widened in recognition under the tattoed brows…I saw his lips mouthing my name in shocked disbelief…then, as I was about to stand up, he took in my Watch cloak and plate armor, the holy symbol hanging from my neck, clapped a hand on one of his companion's arms, hissed something urgently in a language I did not recognize, turned right around and…

"Hey!!! Lorne!!" I tried shouting through the crowd that separated us; the shock was sharp and sudden, banishing all other thoughts from my mind. Lorne, of all people, who vanished from the face of the earth during the Luskan-Neverwinter wars, suddenly materializing right here… "Wait!"

Too late. He and his companions vanished, just as quietly and efficiently as they appeared. I shook my head to clear my eyes and decided not to go after him right now.

Later…later I will get one of Wolf's minions to run around and chase him down… with _those_ tattoos it should not be too difficult. I promised to his mother that I find him, after all…

Later. After I finished here, went upstairs, shed my armor and my worries, said my prayers and buried myself under that warm blanket in my room. Later. Tomorrow. For sure.

All great plans start out that simple…and then falter right at the beginning. Because that night, just before dawn, the Flagon was attacked.


	9. I Am So Tired Of This Town

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**Disclaimers:**

**This chapter was a bit difficult to write--please R&R.**

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections.**

**There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things.**

"**Soundtrack" for this chapter included: _Escape From the Farm_-from the awesome soundtrack of _Battlestar Galactica's Season 2_ by Bear McCreary; _A Gentle Place_ from Clannad's _Banba_, and (hah!) _Dirty Little Secret_-from Sarah McLachlan's _Afterglow_.**

**Finally, and regretfully, I do not own any of the main characters (although I do have pieces of armor and the man who wears them on occasion). Arrighan is entirely my fault, though…J**

**Chapter Nine**

It jolted me out of my sleep, and made me sit bolt upright in bed. It was Duncan's voice on the corridor, bellowing like I've never heard it before, and what he said was so absurd that at first I thought I was still in one of my more vivid nightmares.

"Up! Up! We are attacked! The Flagon is under attack!"

One part of my mind was still wondering at the possibility of dreaming, the other, the one that trained obsessively long hours from age twelve, however, responded perfectly. Grab sword from side of bed, slid it out of scabbard; flick of hand and word of power so a tiny sliver of living light appearing over my head illuminates my room; scan of room to make sure there is no one there but me; out of bed, murmur invocation of strength, skid on bare feet to door, deep exhale, grab door handle, listen to movement on corridor…open door and JUMP!

The first thing I saw was Duncan as he kicked a green skinned figure hard in the middle with his booted feet, while yelling again, enraged, but without words. I stood there, on my doorstep, almost paralyzed, seeing, for the first time in my life, my foster-uncle fight, . I had to admit, he was rather amazing. With no weapon, but that stupid towel that he carried with him all the time, and his bare hands and feet, he dispatched the gith before I could even get to him.

"That was the most creative use of a bar towel I've ever seen, Uncle!" I had to remind myself that he used to be an adventurer for decades. When he looked up and noticed me, I hurried up to him and grabbed his arm. "The rest…?"

"Downstairs, quick! Those fucking bastards are killing my customers!" That's all he said before turning away and starting to run towards the stairs. I nodded to myself. _Ah, the businessman is back for at least a while_…I followed, also running, my bare feet not making any noise, feeling extremely vulnerable for a second. Then, as we stormed down the stairs, I had to dispense with thinking: I slipped into the battle time of Tyr, with a surprising ease.

_One: sweeping stroke at the bottom of the stairs, the gith just turning around alerted by the shaking of the stairs goes down…_

_Two and three: following my invocation, silver fire kisses over the blade of my weapon, dealing double harm to the creature kneeling over one of the sailors on the floor.._

_Four, five and six: Duncan and I reach the door leading to the common room. The noises from there rumble in my ear like so many heartbeats; there is fighting amongst the tables, those who fell asleep by the fireplace, those in the downstairs sleeping rooms, and my companions, all against even more green skinned githyanki…_

"_Where the bloody hells these things keep coming from??" I hear myself saying very, very slowly, as I step, as Duncan slides up beside me, as he reaches out with his towel ---flick, flick--so I can dispatch the next enemy while it's busy trying to avoid the wet-smelling thing unerringly directed towards his eyes …_

"_I have no idea, lass!" he shouts at me, also in the rumbling basso of slow time…and yes, they keep coming…_

_As we reach the middle of the common room, we have to realize that we got here too late…Another flick of my hand; the battle time dissipates in on dizzying moment of disorientation…_

…and there I was, holding my blade in its classical final position, the front of my nightgown all spluttered in greenish blood…

"Nice lace on that gown, lass." I heard from my left, then that characteristic, harrumphing sound that always precedes a good, old-fashioned Khelgar-style spit. "Got that in some fancy-schmancy store, eh?"

"All ruined now, Khel--will you buy me another? I get you the address." I shot back almost instinctively, then turned to survey he scene.

Neeshka, her tail twitching, in calf-length tight pants and a snowy-white shirt billowing over it, was pulling out some of her throwing knives from a pair of corpses. Elanee was busy holding Sal's head, who must have just finished throwing up--he had a gash over his eyebrow and looked a bit concussed, but as Elanee was not frowning overmuch, I figured this was still acceptable. Qara looked smug and self-satisfied, holding Grobnar at arm's length as he exclaimed on his squeakiest voice: "No, really, Qara, that was magnificent, you got most of them at once, and not a single rafter got singed, it is really not your fault that the others managed to drag her through the portal before…"

"Pull whom through the portal?" I said sharply. The gnome looked at me, puzzled, like he was not quite sure who I was, then he smiled widely.

"Ah, yes, Lady Arrighan…I did not recognize you in that…"

"Yes, yes, never you mind, Grobnar…" I said impatiently, strode over to him and bent down. "It's called a nightgown…" Why was everyone behaving as if this was the first one they've ever seen, I had no idea. "What is this about someone being dragged through…"

Qara released Grobnar, and rubbed on her arm absentmindedly then hissed.

"Stupid bitch got me with a backhand slash…could you do something about it?"

Trust the sorceress to think only about herself and start ordering me around like a servant, too. I suppressed an angry retort, shook my head and reached out: after all, I was in the profession of helping people out, right?

"Here, let me see that arm." I looked at Grobnar again, who, like usual, got distracted with who knows what as soon as Qara let go and now was humming to himself. " 'Nar…I asked a question, if you don't mind."

That was the moment when Duncan bounced up and announced:

"Arrighan…I think they took your ward. The farm girl. Shandra. She's not here." I dropped Qara's arm who yelped in surprise.

"Oh, yes, that was it!" Grobnar stopped humming and did an excited little jig. "Shandra, yes, yes, that was her name! They grabbed her as soon as she was down here, they just kind of piled on her…Lady Qara got some of them with an excellently placed fire spell, great aim…but some of them still managed to keep that portal open and…"

"You know, if I have to get through one of those things again, I think I am going to throw up." announced Neeshka tapping on my arm. "Hey, that's Amnian lace…where did you get it?"

"Would everyone please get off the subject of my sleepwear?" I threw up my hands in exasperation. "In case anyone else is interested, I can tell where I shop…"

"Don't know, holy girl, maybe the paladin." Bishop walked up, sword in hand, still dressed in the same leathers--does this man never sleep? "It's a little too conservative for my taste…but what the hells these things wanted from you and…?" He stopped, just short of one of the corpses and kneeled down to investigate something on it. "Hmmm…interesting."

"What?" The night air felt chilly all of a sudden. They took Shandra: they figured out where she was, which meant they tracked us, which meant…  
"They tracked the shards." I said, exactly the same time as someone else behind my back.

"Eek!" I jumped, I think. "Why are you…?"

"That seems to be the only logical explanation." Casavir had his cloak in his hand. " Here: take this, my lady." His expression was unreadable, which was as it should have been…but why, then, I felt like someone just stabbed something needle-sharp straight through my heart?

"Since the shards are from a silver sword of the githyanki, like Aldanon said…" he continued; I took the cloak and wrapped it around me: I felt the start of shivers under the icy blue of his gaze. "…it seems more than plausible that they have some kind of way to locate their presence. That's the only way they could mount those repeated attacks on you ever since you left your home. At Shandra's farm, one of them probably managed to send a message of some sort to another group before they were all killed--we don't exactly know how they operate, do we, their magic is so different from ours…? And now, they took Shandra: we let our guard down and we pay the price."

"Easy, mister." Neeshka said, warily. "What do you mean, let our guard down? You can't blame Arrighan for that, who'd have thought they would just come it here and…"

"No, Neesh…" I lifted a hand. "He is right." I felt so stupid. "After we encountered them here in the city, not once, but twice…I should have made the connection and…That was inexcusable."

_Shandra_…

She trusted me, there, at the end…and now…

"When you finished with the self-accusing bullshit, holy girl…" drawled Bishop "I need to show you something." As I turned towards him, he held out his palm: brownish-green tiny twig from a tree or something. "That's duskwood; it only grows in one particular forest in Luskan territory. It was on one of these creatures' boots." He pressed the thing in my hand; his fingers were warm and dry. "Here; now you know where to start."

"Luskan?" Duncan stepped closer: there was a strange look in his eyes I did not care much for. "That's your territory, Bishop…"

"So what?" The ranger shrugged, turned away and spoke back over his shoulder. "As if I care what happens to a crazy farm girl who is stupid enough to hang out with holy rollers who…"

"They could use a tracker when they go after her." Duncan's voice was more of a growl, now: I looked at him, then to Bishop, not quite understanding what was going on here. I had maybe four hours of sleep, and even that was filled with rather disturbing dreams. In addition to the fatigue that always assaulted me, inevitably, after battle, maybe my mind was not working quite as fast as it should have.

"And you _will _help them, I say." Duncan kept going on that low voice; Bishop stopped dead, turned around and looked at him. I felt something heavy, something almost visibly important hovering in the air there for a split second; my uncle drew up to his full height, chin jutting forward, tensing every muscle.

"I see." said Bishop slowly. "Is that how it is, then, Duncan?" The way he looked at my uncle now, made me want to step in front of him with my sword; the man was radiating such fury. "You calling it in, just like that?"

"I do, Bishop." Duncan nodded heavily. "I want you to go with my niece here, I want you to help her find her friend, Shandra, and I want you to help her to bring her back here unharmed." I heard a sharp intake of breath from where Khelgar stood; I made a note to ask him later. 'Now, lass…" and Duncan turned to me, "you probably don't have much time. Let's have one of the kids run to the Watch to get them here so everything is squared off and reported…then you better be off. I'll start on the supplies."

With that, he was off towards the storage room…and that left me there with a whole roomful of people staring at me, and that included one almost white-faced ranger.

"You heard the man." Bishop spoke so low I had to step up to him to hear it. "We start out as soon as you lot can get your shit together; sooner if possible. I'll be here waiting." He turned away with his jaw clenched so tight I could see his neck muscles straining, and set out to the corner where he usually store his stuff.

Well, that was decidedly odd. As I had too many things that needed resolution, I started with the one I thought was the simplest: I went after Duncan. I got him in the kitchen, talking to one of the sleepy-faced girls from the Irregulars while stuffing things into a bag with small, angry movements.

"Um…Uncle?" I gently but firmly took the bag out of his hand. "I don't think we'll need any more potatoes." The girl fled the scene through the back door, very fast: she probably was the one Duncan wanted to let the Watch know what happened. "I'll be back up in my room a minute, getting my things, but I need to ask you about Bishop…"

"There's nothing to ask, lass." He took a ham off the hook and, after brief hesitation, a bag of beans from the floor. "He'll be a great help for you; I don't think there's anyone in this city who knows the Duskwood side of the border better. Just watch him, that's all."

"Yes, Uncle, that's exactly it." I tied the mouth of the bag with a piece of string. "Do I have to keep an eye on him all the time to make sure he does not cut my throat while trying to rape me in my sleep?."

"Now, lass, I don't think anyone could do that to you…" Duncan started, but I cut him off.

"It's not the question of me being able to defend myself, Uncle, and you know that, too. Whatever made you to have him guide us…fine, no doubt he is a good tracker, I trust your judgment, But I cannot have one eye on him all the time while being busy saving Shandra, you see?"

"You are way too smart for your own good…" Duncan murmured while grabbing two pots and tossing them with the rest of the stuff on the kitchen table. "But you should not worry about that…not this time, anyway. He'll behave."

I snorted. "And I am assuming you will not tell me any details about how come you can just order him around like that."

"Yep." Duncan had that same stubborn set to his shoulders his brother, my foster-father had every time I tried to pry into my own past--so I knew that was all I was going to get.

"Fine, then." I gave him a quick hug. "Be that way…should not expect less from a Furlong, after all." I strode out of there before he could come up with a suitably Daeghun-like retort, too.

Next stop: Khelgar. I was going to get to the bottom of my 'people to talk to' list one of these days, but by then, I was sure I would have had a whole other one written up for me. I did not look forward to it.

"What is it, lass?" I found him tying his weapon belt over what he called 'his dignity', that is, his rather respectable potbelly, in his room--door open, equipment, assorted weapons, clothing and pieces of food all over the place. "I'll be done in just a pinch…and don't ye worry, I am right as rain, that little gash got healed mighty fine."

"Glad to hear that." I smiled at him: not that I doubted Elanee's healing abilities, but I liked to make sure he was not just trying to please me and than will collapse after a day on the road. "But tell me, Khel: you found something odd about that little scene between Uncle Dunk and Bishop…?"

"Aye, lass." he nodded, serious all of a sudden. "I sure did; that little exchange was suspiciously close to some ritual _geas_-invocations my people have."

"_Geas_?" I asked: I was not familiar with the expression.

"Bound, obligation, blood-debt, fulfillment of an oath…" Khelgar was speaking slowly as if he was tasting the words. "It's hard to find the Common equivalent; but yer uncle must have called in a debt for ye, of that I am certain."

"Ah." I just stood there, nodding, and there were about a hundred questions running through my mind. Because, of course, that explained a lot: how come Bishop got to hang around even though obviously they did not like each other much; how come Uncle Duncan never tossed him out; how come Bishop never tried to knife him, or anyone else in the inn for that matter…and, at the end, how come that Duncan could just tell him to go help me and the ranger had to do it.

"Well, lass…do you have ought else you wanted to ask?" Khelgar grabbed a boot from under a pile of dubiously clean clothes. "'Cause if not, you better go and start putting on more clothes and probably some armor, too. And get the lad back his cloak, too…" he added as I was about to leave, indicating Casavir's blue cloak I still had around my shoulders. "He might like it better now that you wore it…"

"Khel!" I have to admit, I fled his room a lot faster than I normally would have: my ears were burning. His chuckle pursued me down the corridor to my own room, and stayed with me while I got ready.

I tried to rescue my nightgown, but I discovered it was not only sputtered with gith blood in front, but got slashed on the shoulder and I ripped it on the side when I stepped too wide. I was more annoyed than I should have, really: that was the first one I owned that was more than some square pieces of linen sewn together, and the first one I purchased here in the big city. And yes, there was lace on it, but lace I always had a secret admiration for—delicate and strong at the same time, made with such care and with nothing but thread, a couple of bobbins and two skilled hands…Retta Starling had a lacemaking pillow and bobbins and when I was a kid I watched her sometimes on long winter evenings to weave thin ribbons of lace that on occasion she gifted to me to wear in my hair. But on clothing…it was wildly impractical and I never even heard about it, until I've arrived to Neverwinter. And here I was, standing in my room, in my travel gear that included my full plate, with the torn gown in my hand, getting all teary-eyed. Ridiculous. Looking at the whole situation, I was fully aware that I was overreacting because of the events of last night, and this dawn, but that did not stop my tears, or the headache. But there was nothing for it, so I dropped it to the laundry basket with a little hopeful note to whomever will deal with it once we were gone asking to see if it can be salvaged or mended—then there was nothing more to be done so I grabbed my pack and headed downstairs, with the worse headache I had in weeks.

Duncan set up a breakfast table, including, bless his heart, several carafes of coffee; the gith corpses were gone, there were two Watchmen talking to him by one of the tables, and most of my companions were tucking into various plates of food.

"Tavern's closed for the day." Duncan turned to me as I dumped my bags by his chair. "We agreed that was the best while the inquiries are being conducted. We almost finished the formalities with the officers here, so grab a bite before the road. Wolf is getting your horses ready." There was a smile on his lips that did not reach his eyes. "Ah, and yon knight nipped over to the Tyr temple…as soon as he's back, you can go, he says. His stuff is all ready." He vaguely indicated a corner.

"I see." I did not, not really. My eyes just wanted to unfocus and my head to drop down to the table. I tried to console myself with the thought that I surely will get some sleep in the saddle--during the long road from West Harbor I perfected the art of dozing on Lorra's back. "Anyone else wondering around town I need to know about?" He just shook his head, rested his hand on my shoulder for a second and turned back to the Watch officers who had some pastries and mugs of coffee in front of them as well.

I finished my two cups, some rolls and cold meat in blessed solitude: there might have been something on my face because none of my companions offered to sit with me. They huddled together in one group by the fire, except Bishop, who was busy feeding scraps under the table to a large and rather mangy-looking creature. It looked like a wolf, but I really hoped it wasn't. I had no idea how the horses would deal with that. Generally, animals did not bother me: I got along with Elanee's animal companion, a temperamental badger just fine (provided we did not get in each other's way in the thick of the fight), and I had nothing against using cats as footwarmers…but that thing with its yellow eyes and long muzzle bothered me a bit. I could just see Lorra's ears pricking back at its sight…and I did not even want to think about how Casavir's trained warhorse will react.

I was resigned to get a third cup of my favorite beverage when he finally arrived back; as he opened the inn door, behind him I could see the dull grey of rainy skies. Great—just perfect weather for some traveling in the woods.

"Raining, eh? " Khelgar grunted as Casavir shook off his old grey cloak before getting to the table. "Here, lad, get a good drink in you before getting back into that weather. The sausages are still warm too…"

"You mean the two sorry little pieces you left?" Neeshka chimed in, grinning sweetly. "And just so that you know, he actually pawed those as well, so you might be better off just sticking to the cold ham and the rolls."

"Easy, goat-girl."said Khelgar relatively mildly. "Just because I have a healthy appetite as opposed to your birdie-stomach, you shouldn't…"

"I am _so_ looking forward to this…" I caught that murmur from Qara who was busy pulling on a pair of fashionable-looking gloves in bright red chamois. "Will you two continue this all the way to Luskan…?"

"Hardly." Bishop did not even look up from feeding his animal: unfortunately, on closer look it was definitely a wolf. "If they try to make this much noise while on the road, I cut their throats myself."

"I might have an objection to that, ranger." I inserted myself in the middle of this, as firmly as my headache let me. And, since I had the coffee carafe in my hand anyway, I inclined it towards the table. "Any refills?"

"I cannot fathom how you can drink that vile thing." Elanee shook her head with disgust; her cup was half-filled with some kind of tea that she hastily finished up now. "It tastes like mud…"

"But you never drink it, El…how can you tell?" I looked at Casavir. "A cup for you, then?"

He just nodded, wordlessly. He must have run all the way back from the temple; despite the cloak's protection, there were droplets of rain in his hair and all over his armor. With his pale skin and still no expression on his face he resembled some of the old statues in Blacklake more than ever. I poured, waited until he took a sip, and then looked at him again, hard:

"I need to get the horses checked…would you mind coming with me?" To the others, the same tone: "Let's pack up, ladies and gentlemen, before noon if possible. Meet you out front with the horses." I finished the dregs of my last cup, grabbed my packs and helmet, and headed towards the back; I did not check, but I really hoped he followed me.

He cradled his mug to his chest balancing his gear on his shoulders and arm, kicking the door in with his feet and coming in after me, proving once again that dexterity and balance was something that even paladins could learn. Hope, then, for me; one of these days. Wolf just finished putting up the last supply bag on one of the packhorses, caught the expression on my face, frowned and indicated that he'd take the first ones out front. I liked Wolf a lot.

I put my stuff down next to Lorra on the hay, patted her back.

"Hey, beauty…"I murmured. "Wolf told you we are going to be on the road again?" She shook her mane and snorted. Horses have a limited vocabulary, but they understand a lot.

"My lady…?" He stood in the next stall, looking at me above its low wall—we were almost exactly the same height. "I have to give you something from the Father Prior, if I may…?"

I swallowed. He was nothing but politeness incarnate to me ever since I almost slammed the door on him last night…but that was all. His face was a closed book and his eyes were like frozen blue lakes; his jaw was set in a determined lock.

"Certainly." I tried for a mildly interested look; truth to tell, I was not sure how to break the ice, and I was not even sure I wanted to, or if I had to. After all, I was right…wasn't I?

He rounded the wooden pillar separating the stalls, and handed me a little book, barely larger than my hand. It was bound in faded red leather with tiny silver clasps securing the pages.

"Path of the Silver Fire." he explained. "Prior Hlam felt that you needed it, my lady." He hesitated for a second before continuing. "It is the copy from our family library I mentioned you earlier; it got donated to the chapterhouse, and now I have received permission to hand it to you, with the blessings of Father Prior."

"But why…?"I opened it, carefully unclasping the silver locks. The illuminations were breathtakingly beautiful, all in color, the images almost stepped off the vellum, the calligraphy impeccable. That book must have been worth the entire village I grew up in. "Because somehow, without realizing it I know these…exercises by heart? Because I have some stupid birthmarks and…"

"Arrighan, stop." He never called me on my name before; I just stared at him. All of a sudden, I felt that age difference between us again: me in my twenties, he in his thirties. "Listen to me: this is important. Both the Father Prior and I feel that you… you are important somehow. That you are more than what you think about yourself… just a hedge-paladin from a swamp-village with some unusual powers, or a rising star in the Watch officer corps." His mouth twisted into a bitter parody of a smile. "And definitely more important than a once proud scion of a now nonexistent noble house who thinks too much. No, you had every right to call me out like that last night…I of course, would have preferred it not to happen." He shrugged, with the ease of a born noble, and yet, there was something of a little boy's awkwardness in it. "But it is of no matter. I got my penance from the Father Prior and will serve it, may Tyr give me strength. You, on the other hand…"He reached out and touched my cheek, gently. "You, just like I said before, were given a hard path to walk…Know, my lady, that whatever I may do to ease it, it is yours for the asking." There was a smile now, slow and hesitant. "I had to tell that to you, before we leave…you might have thought I was angry with you about what you said. Forgive me: that was not what I intended. I had…things to think over. I went to the temple; talked to Prior Hlam…to make sure Anthar is all right. They have my uncle now, until he can return to the Archives. That was his home for a long time—it will be a while before he can go back though. It takes time for the memory of blood and killing to fade…again." The smile was gone, now, and I knew exactly what he was thinking. His uncle, amongst the blood and carnage in the Archives, probably re-lived the family tragedy all over again.

"I am sorry…" I whispered. Lorra nuzzled my palm, looking for a sugar cube. I run my fingers through her soft mane and wished suddenly that I did not have to go. "For what it's worth, I am sorry for what happened, I really am. I… still don't understand what this destiny is that you talk about. But…right now, I just need to take it one at the time…right now, I need to get Shandra back. I owe her that much."


	10. Do What I Have To Do

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**Disclaimers:**

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections.**

**There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things.**

"**Soundtrack" for this chapter included: _Spider's Stratagem_-from Dead Can Dance's _Into The Labyrinth_, _Dirty Reeds_- from Brother's _Black Stone Tramp_, and _Do What You Have To Do _from Sarah McLachlan's _Surfacing_. **

**Finally, and regretfully, I do not own any of the main characters (although I do have pieces of armor and the man who wears them on occasion). Arrighan is entirely my fault, though…J**

**Chapter Ten**

The worst thing about those caverns was the stench. I could not recall smelling it at all from any of our repeated fights with the githyanki and their allies earlier. It crept into my nostrils as soon as we entered the complex maze of stone under the old ruins, sickly sweet and cloying, and got stronger the further we advanced—at first it was almost like a strong scent of some evening-blooming flowers, but with the whisper of death in it. With every step, however, that death smell got stronger, until it was nothing but the stench of rot and corruption, masked by some musky perfume cheaper than even the lowliest of street girls working the Docks would wear.

It made me even tenser than I was before; it drove me mad that I could not identify it, and I snapped at everyone to be on their guard and alert and perfect with such a fury even Elanee looked at me askance.

That was when Casavir tapped my arm and took me aside. He told Khelgar to stop for rest, ignoring Bishop's protests with the same stoic expression on his face he bore his barbed words all the way from Neverwinter.

"Yes, what is it? "I turned on him as soon as we were at some distance from where our companions sat down, with whatever warding magic Elanee could still erect around them. Frankly, we all could have used some rest, after all the fighting up the slopes of the hill and in the first cavern we entered, so the logical half of my mind agreed with Casavir's suggestion. "Make it quick, will you?"

Something in me kept snarling at that smell, with raised hackles and bared teeth, just like Karnwyr, Bishop's wolf reacted to all those gith when they ambushed us in that small village; what was the name--yes, Ember. Except after fighting them so many times already, I was quite sure this was not their normal scent. This was something else.

I took a deep breath to calm myself—and that was a mistake. As I inhaled, the stench assaulted every fiber in my being with renewed ferocity. I retreated two steps from Casavir, with my back at the cavern wall. I felt my hand searching for the hilt of my sword and my lips pull back in a snarl.

_What in the name of Tyr is wrong with me?_

He tensed, but did not make anything out of my unusually rude outburst.

"You never felt this before." he said quietly, and that deep, steady voice felt like the gush of cool water on my forehead. "I am afraid it is as I feared, my lady. That smell…as it gets stronger, it effects me as well, as it would every member of our Order…we usually learn to recognize it early in our training even though it only rarely felt by others. There is no mistaking it to anything else. And your strong reaction to it…" he shrugged, "well, it's only to be expected."

"Fine, Sir Cryptic, yes, I never smelled anything like that before, now what is it?" I attempted to breathe through my mouth; the pressure on my skull eased up somewhat. "Come on, we don't have all day!" I knew I was using a way too sharp tone, but I just could not control myself. That fetid, putrescent odor with its sickly-sweet flowery notes grated on all of my nerves, all of my senses, it was so…wrong.

'It's the stench of the Nine Hells and the Abyss." he said evenly, not taking his eyes off me. "Somehow, demons and devils walk in this place, my lady—they should not be here and yet they are. I asked for a stop to rest and gather our strength before we encounter them; and to speak to you about it, so that you are prepared. "

"Oh." I slowly sunk down to the rocky floor of the cave. I am sure some people would have taken this much better than I did, but even though I understood his words and the weight behind them, it did not hit me with full force yet. "I see." I hugged my steel-clad knees, anticipating my reaction that, inevitably, was coming. "So: what do I do?"

I asked that a lot these past days from him. He took his role as my educator in matters holy to Tyr very seriously. In fact, with such precision and meticulousness that I suspected this was one of the penances Father Prior meted out on him. I especially thought so at times when I reacted to something he said by staring at him with wide-eyed almost-terror and asked that question '_so, what do I do_?'

We sparred at every dawn after prayers and every evening after camp chores were done. The exercises he devised to perfect my form and increase my precision never got easier, either. I also had to read and recite verses from The Path of Silver Fire and we discussed interpretations of the text and debated fine points of the techniques, followed by the inevitable demonstration and yet more practice until I was ready to just throw the book at him sometimes. I was not alone in this desire: Khelgar attempted to sit in on the first of those sessions (after all, he was determined to learn the ways of Tyr so he can become a monk). After ten minutes or so spent on discussing the possible meanings of a more obscure word describing 'winding' one's sword, however, he muttered something about 'this is all just wordplay and riddles and stuff' and stomped back to the main campfire to help Elanee chop up some potatoes. For the rest of the trip it was just Casavir and me, our swords, the book, and my copious amount of sweat.

_Ah, there it was_... Now that I knew what the smell was, now that I knew what we possibly faced even as close as the next cavern, I felt the shivers starting, combined with a cold sweat that clung to me like a bad dream. I hugged my knees to me as close as it was possible in full battle gear, closed my eyes, and summoned up the chant of courage, one of the first ones Aevan taught me. Technically (I felt my lips twitch into a smile even as I recited the words of power), technically I should not have been able to do it that young…that's what Casavir told me during one of our discussions. Technically…well, _technically _I was not supposed to exist as a hedge-paladin, either.

As the shivers subsided, I slowly willed my muscles to relax. I felt the energy from my own aura slowly cover me like a warm blanket. I rolled the last words over in my mouth-- they felt like golden honey, rich and strong and sweet-- finished with a high note held for a second so it resonated in my very bones, and stood up.

"That was well done, my lady." said Casavir. "That was exactly what you needed to do, and you knew it."

"I'd much rather not." I stretched my left shoulder a bit: that last encounter with the gith who, as it turned out, was the very same who killed my friend Amie back in West Harbor was intense, if brief. I felt the warmth of the divine magic, and the warmth of his words as well. It felt good. "But seriously: why would those things be here? Would the githyanki ally with hellspawn?"

"They might not." He bent down, checked something on one of his greaves. "There might be another force at work…remember what that githyanki said..."

There was this odd moment before we engaged that group in the first cave; an exhausted-looking gith running up to the one who named himself a sword-stalker, panting: "We have a problem…intruders in the complex…" That's all I was able to make out before they fell on us following a snarled command from their leader.

As if kidnapping Shandra did not cause me enough of a headache. That sword-stalker told me what they were planning to do with her once they magically interrogated her for the memory of her grandfather's theft of a silver sword. Merely thinking back at his words caused my stomach to churn…And now…

_Devils and demons…_

This could only have meant there was someone else after these shards I carried.

I did not have a chance to assemble my thoughts into something resembling logical order and get any conclusions just yet: we were too busy with the chase, my training and, recently, fighting a lot. But something told me there will be more answers by the time we reach the end of this ever-sprawling system of caves beneath what I was told were ancient ruins of the Illefarn Empire.

"At any event, we will know soon." He looked towards our companions. "Best to get some rest for you as well, my lady--I'll stand first watch." He did that, every night since we left the city; and by now I learned not to argue.

"Thank you." I said, and smiled at him. 'For the explanation, and the warning. I will be careful, I promise."

"Of course, my lady." He bowed, slightly. "I'll wake everyone in two hours; just let them know."

As I got back to our group, Bishop greeted me with a particularly gleeful sneer.

"Back to us this soon, holy girl? What happened, paladin could not get you out of armor this fast and got frustrated?"

I picked up one of the waterskins and tossed it at him.

"Bishop…." I said, wearily. "Water. Mouth. Rinse. Repeat." I stopped counting how many times I heard a variation on that theme from him after the second day of our trip. I sat down next to Neeshka and sighed. "We have about two hours to rest. Sir Casavir will stand watch, he says…and we need to be careful. There are demons around."

Neeshka looked at me. I very seldom saw her frightened, but this was one of those times: her eyes were huge.

My tiefling…I almost forgot what she was…

"How do you know?" she whispered breathlessly.

"The smell…" I explained. "I did not know what it was at first."

"I can smell it too…" she nodded, then glanced to the others, "but I don't think they can…"Her infernal blood reacted to their presence just like my combined celestial heritage and paladin senses had.

"Ah. Family reunion for the demon-girl, then?" Neeshka's eyes clouded with hurt. Bishop just would not shut up. Moreover, he swaggered our way and sat down right next to me. "No fear, though; despite you giving away my dagger to that crazy boy in Ember, I still have plenty of weapons to chop hellflesh with."

"We'll see how far that attitude carries you, ranger." I said. "Just to be precise, I _paid_ you for that dagger to give it to Marcus, so let it go. And leave Neeshka alone: I thought you had enough sick fun pestering me." His mangy wolf trotted over and sat in front of me, right on my armored feet. Great.

"Karnwyr likes you." Bishop shook his head. "Why, I have no idea. I told him about a hundred times that you are bad for his health, but he does not care."

"So?" I looked at him: neither of us had seen much water or soap in a couple of days, and he always had about three days' worth of stubble on his chin anyways, so it was hard to see his expression. "Is this a lead for another of your disgusting jokes? Because if so, I am not biting. We all need to get some rest for what lies ahead." I tried to pull my feet from under Karnwyr, but the mangy thing was determined. He actually lay down in front of me, paws hugging my feet, with his tongue sticking out, looking for the entire world like a big puppy dog.

"If he licks me, I'll kick." I warned his owner. "I am not even a dog person, let alone get along with wolves."

"Heh. I told you that you were wasted as a paladin…" Bishop snorted. "You have brains, you would not look half as bad as you do now once you stop carrying all that armor, my wolf likes you…"

"What, you offering me to run away together or something?" I almost laughed out loud.

"Now, now, don't get ideas in your pretty head." He winked at me and jumped up, without making any noise. The man could move, I give him that. "But maybe you can dream about me a little. Karnwyr, come on! " He snapped his fingers, and his wolf, who was busy drooling on my feet at the moment, followed, with a last lick to my plate boots.

"Ewww." said Neeshka after a moment of silence. "Do you feel like you need to take a bath after that, or it's just me?" I didn't think she meant the wolf-drool.

"Indeed." I shivered. "Just try to forget it, Neesh and get some sleep." I wrapped my cloak around me, closed my eyes and tried to relax as much as it was possible, given that I was on a hard rock floor, wearing my full armor, and, quite possibly, really close to my first demonfight ever.

It wasn't easy: climbing up on that slope to the cave would have been trying even without various githyanki scouts trying to ambush us, not to mention their rather annoying fire traps. Then that damned sword-stalker spellcaster in the first cavern …

I recognized him as soon as he stepped into the circle of torchlight glittering on the walls. I will never forget that face--I dreamed with it for weeks after Amie's death. I still gritted my teeth in anger as I recalled the moment when my best friend collapsed lifeless to the ground beside me, the shock of her spell-barriers casually ripped away by a lethal energy blast written on her face in her own blood. All those months spent on the road in almost constant danger, and the memory was still fresh, bursting into the surface as soon as I beheld the alien wizard's form in that first cavern.

_And then he was finished…just like all of his minions and how many others before him?_ The thought came unbidden, no doubt connected to that memory of the very first time I had to kill, the night Amie died.

I don't know how others deal with this, who also walk the path of Law and Good…for me the only way was to offer each of these fights to Tyr and trust him to guide my blade, that he knows that what I am to do, to take a life, is for the better, that there is no other way. That, however, did not mean that they didn't come back on occasion to stare at me with their lifeless eyes, a silent multitude of forms, some with green skin and the nose-slits and cat-eyes of the gith, some dressed in the ragtag clothes of ruffians, outlaws and bandits, some in the black of Shadow Thieves, or with the tattoos of Luskan assassins, yet others grey as the duergar, or faintly gleaming with the dullness of bladelings…

_There were so many…_

_And there will be many more._ That thought intruded like the final knoll of the old bell in Tyr's temple: and it rang of truth.

_You were given a hard path to walk, my lady…_ Casavir told me twice over already. As sleep slowly claimed me, I had to realize he knew the truth even more clearly than I ever dared to face.

…A couple of hours later, I managed to have pretty much all of my companions stare at me with a mixture of amazement, horror, surprise or amusement, as I just finished probably the longest string of cussing I ever uttered in my life, punctuated by a very unpaladin-like kick to the door of the cage that held Shandra locked up till five minutes ago.

"…and that is that!" I took a deep breath and waited for the echoes of my voice die under the domed ceiling of the huge hall we were in. "No, don't say anything. "I glared at Casavir who, I was sure, itched to make a remark about appropriate behavior. "I am aware that that was way out of line, and I will make repentance once we are back safely in Neverwinter, but that had to come out…That fucking _bitch_!" I broke out in cursing again and kicked the door the second time.

I referred to, of course, the mind behind all of the attacks on me, the supreme leader of all gith on Faerun, Zeeaire, according to her own words, second only to their Lich Queen, now laying very, very much dead at my feet. The cursing was my involuntary response to not only what she revealed to me, but to this entire godsforsaken adventure in these ruins…and even though I knew it was utterly overblown and rather childish, I could not control it.

What I could, however, control was my breathing, and control it I did. I hoped. Once I let those emotions and my mouth to run their course for a while, it was easier to just go on with the next logical step and get on with practicalities.

"You wanted to say, m'dear?" I turned to Shandra, who smoothed her hair out of her face, closed her mouth and tried not to look dumbfounded.

"Um…well…"she mumbled…"Just wandered if maybe you could let me to save you next time…? It's getting to where there's no way I can pay you back for all these rescues…"

"Oh you can pay us back all right, don't worry. There's plenty of time till we get back to Neverwinter." Bishop knew when to step into it. My eyes narrowed, but I don't think he noticed as he sidled closer to Shandra, who, even in her dirty, soiled clothes, exhausted from what I was sure the beginning of torture and with matted hair managed to look breathtaking.

_Oh, no, please_…run through my mind, _please, don't take the bait…_

Too late. She obviously did.

"What?" Shandra shot a confused look at him. "I am not paying you a penny…"

Bishop leered; the man enjoyed this way too much.

"Oh, don't you worry, farm girl, you can always pay me another way. My bedroll's a little cold at night, and I'm thinking you can fix that."

'Watch it, Bishop!" I said, rather resigned; again, adding one to the 'lewd innuendos and other vile things I had to put up from Bishop on this trip' count in my head. It was a long list, and I suspected it was not over yet.

"Mmmm, jealousy…" Bishop sniffed as if sensing the air, with a wolfish grin on his face. "Quite thick in this little band, I see." That was said with an unmistakable look towards Casavir. "But don't you worry; I haven't forgotten your pretty face, fair leader." With a surprisingly accurate approximation of a courtly bow, and a suggestive wink, he moved over to the wall to check on Karnwyr who got a little gash on his shoulder and Elanee was busy patching it up.

"Can I please kick him instead of the door?" I pulled on Casavir's arm. "Pretty please? Tell me there is a special dispensation for paladins who are goaded on an approximately hourly basis by smarmy rangers? There has to be! I am out of imaginative swearwords!"

"I heard that." Neeshka snickered next to us; she was busy piling up whatever there was to take from the chests in the hall and found on the corpses of our enemies. I did not object, not ever: once you resigned yourself to adventuring, this was pretty much the way of supporting yourself. I had quite a number of mouths to feed and equip in our merry little band by now, and although Duncan gave us some discounts on room and board, I was keenly aware that sometimes we were his only revenue source. "Just tell her yes, Casavir: otherwise she will start all over again from the 'cat's ass-breath' part…"

"We need the man to get us back to Neverwinter territory safe." Casavir decided to stay serious. Fine. One of these days, I will get him to either make a joke or laugh in a desperate situation. One of these days. "And he knows that, obviously." He shrugged. "Once back at the Flagon, my lady, though…I will do my best and not get in your way."

"Back at the Flagon…" Neeshka sighed. "Hot bath…real food…"

"Hey! What's wrong with me cooking, moose-breath?" Khelgar was cleaning his axe and looked offended—or just amused, it was hard to tell with all the beard.

"Just the same as usual, Runty: it always, despite what is in the pot, tastes like dishwashing water."

"Oh, really, goat-girl? Well, lemme tell ya…"

I sighed and turned to Shandra, who watched the whole exchange with an increasingly panicky expression on her face.

"This is normal, really…well, most of it. You feeling okay?"

"I think so…"she answered cautiously. I checked her for injuries first time I pulled her out of that filthy, despicable cage they tossed her in so I knew there were only some bruises. Still, there was the memory of all what happened, all that was said…and it traced black shadows under her eyes, faded her cheeks to parchment-white. "I am just…that…Zeeaire said there was a…piece of something inside you…?"

I felt my skin shiver on my chest as she said that, with tiny little prickles all along the white scar that run from between my collarbones down to my navel.

"Yes…"I answered Shandra slowly. "Indeed."

_I still could feel the acute sense of dread and helplessness that assaulted me as I hung halfway in the air, under the immobility spell the githyanki leader put on me._

"_You have a piece of the sword…inside you." She smiled a horrible little smile, eerily shimmering behind the forcefield of the portal that connected her to her own plane. "I already have the rest of the pieces you've stolen, Kalach-cha…" She tapped the ornately carved box resting on a stand next to her, where she dropped the three shards she previously yanked out of my belt-pouch with her magic. "…and this means that I need to take the last one from you…by force."_

But that was not the real thing that angered me so much that I forgot all my training and cursed like the worst teamster on the Fort Locke run. It was what she said and she did right before her death.

"_You think you've defeated me, Kalach-cha…but my people were not the ones you had to fear." _

"_Yeah, right." Khelgar crouched down on her other side, watching her every move, just in case she tried anything else. "'Cause yer people obviously just tried to give us flowers at every little meeting we had with 'em…"_

_Zeeaire gasped, greenish blood pulsing from her wounds._

"_I hope the pain you have brought here is revisited upon you a thousand fold." Her claw-like fingers scraped at her chest, flicked towards me…I felt warm droplets of blood hitting my forehead, and I drew a surprised breath, reeling back from her._

"_You!" Khelgar almost spat the word as he whipped his axe up in an arc. "You… filthy cur! You dare to… curse her…?"_

"_Hold it, Khel!" I put every commanding ability I had in my voice to stop him. "That's just what she wants…quick death…"I kneeled down, leaned closer and willed my voice to be cold and steady. "What do you mean, old woman?"_

"_An ancient enemy comes for you, one that has existed for millennia." Zeeaire pulled herself to one elbow, and coughed up more blood. Lung wound; that was my last strike on her, besides the one in her stomach. I nodded grimly: she did not have much time left. "You have already felt the effects of his presence, and he will grow stronger with time."_

_A face formed in my mind, unbidden: the tattooed warlock commanding all those demons we encountered, with his thin, cruel lips, narrow beard and aquiline nose, as he looks back at me from the darkness, lit by the torch in his hand._

_Another cough: more blood, thinner this time. Almost there, then._

"_This enemy, this… King of Shadows..." Zeeaire's hand clasped mine with surprising strength, her yellow cat-eyes radiating the fire of a zealot's soul. "If he succeeds in his plans, your civilization will become dust, and all life will be consumed by darkness."_

"_Who?" I felt the anger rising in me with its silver-and-crimson edges razor sharp: there she was, like all of her minions before, speaking in riddles, creating obstacles, clouding the path before me…_

_The self-righteousness in her alien eyes as even with her last breath she sought to insult and belittle me and all of my companions, all we did…_

_"I will see you in death, Kalach-cha, I don't think…I have to wait…too long."_

"_Cat's ass-breath!" I jumped up as her lifeless body slumped back, unable to contain myself any longer. "Why, you useless, scheming, conniving, self-righteous, stinky bitch!" I had to restrain myself from directing a full-force kick towards her ribs…instead, I channeled all that fury into my voice. "May your mother's…"_

And so on, and so forth. Looking back, it was really rather childish and petulant, but it felt so good…

Now, I gingerly reached up and felt the slowly drying blood droplets on my face. I did not feel different…but I had no idea how curses worked, and obviously knew even less about githyanki curses.

"I suppose I'll have to have myself checked at the temple now." I turned to Casavir again, who was following Bishop with his eyes. "Just in case she really tried something…"

He nodded, slightly absentminded: he obviously was still incensed about my unpaladinlike behavior. The distaste was obvious from his pursed lips and frowning brow.

"Listen." I said quickly. "I am sorry my mouth ran away with me like that. I really did not mean to. I guess, despite all of your attempts to teach me otherwise, under this armor and the thin veil of holiness, I am just an unwashed hick from West Harbor…"

"Will you stop that? "he snapped at me, so loud that even Qara looked up from her usual self-satisfied smirk, surprised; she really helped with a well-placed spell or two during this trip. I took an involuntary step backwards. "Swearing does not make you less of what you are, my lady. "he continued, lowering his voice, but with the same intensity. "Continuous doubt in your own self, however, can eat at your soul until there is nothing left but a gnawed-up piece of wood where evil can lay its eggs." There was a sad smile in his eyes. "Believe me…I should know."

I felt relief and bewilderment course over me at the same time. If he was not frowning about me behaving like a mercenary, then what…?

He stepped closer and laid a hand on my shoulder. "Do not let _this…_" The gesture with his other gauntleted hand indicated Zeeaire, the other githyanki corpses, and the pervasive demon stench that still lingered in the entire complex, "get to you, my lady. There are people here who…care for you, who believe in you. That should count for something, shouldn't it?"

Before I even could say anything, he turned and moved over to Khelgar and Neeshka, offering assistance with starting our departure from these caves.

I caught myself staring after him, still feeling the touch of his hand…and Shandra looking at me oddly.

"Well…"I sighed…"To answer your question, my dear, yes; something is very definitely _in _me." I tried to look around for any kind of cloth that I could wipe my face with, but it looked like there was nothing but ask Elanee for one of her dozen linen handkerchiefs she always carried.

I smiled at Shandra, blood-splattered face and all.

"You see: my dear esteemed foster-uncle better explain to me, once we were back in Neverwinter, how both he and Daeghun neglected to mention the tiny little fact of having a silver shard lodged inside of my chest to me. And it better be a rather good explanation…otherwise, so help me Tyr, I will make him listen to Grobnar playing two uninterrupted hours of Wendersnaven music while tied to a chair with only Bishop to keep him company."


	11. Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**Disclaimers:**

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections.**

**There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things.**

**The write-to-music part for this chapter, now…Two from The Chieftains: _Dunmore Lassies_ from _The Long Black Veil_, and _I Know My Love _from _Tears Of Stone_; plus _Sometimes You Can't Make it On Your Own_ by U2 from the _How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb _album.**

**Finally, and regretfully, I do not own any of the main characters (although I do have pieces of armor and the man who wears them on occasion). Arrighan is entirely my fault, though…J**

**Chapter Eleven**

_He laid out a friggin'meat and cheese tray._

That was pretty much the only coherent thought in my head entering the _Flagon'_s common room as we dragged ourselves in, after taking care of the horses first. I insisted on that, and got surprised when Bishop did not argue for once. Yes, he was a ranger…it was just that Lorra got dangerously close to kick his mangy companion a couple of times, so I thought he might harbor some resentment. The world is sometimes kinder than I give it credit for. Right then, though, all I had the strength to think was that Duncan closed up the _Flagon_ probably as soon as one of Wolf's irregulars spotted us entering the city gates, and _put up a meat and cheese tray…_

I think I stumbled a bit as I reached the table and had to steady myself on it with one hand as I grabbed a handful of assorted slices of food and just stuffed it in my mouth. One half of me watched the other in a horrified fascination…_gee_, I thought, _I am really hungry,_ then, _mmm, this tastes good_, then _you really should slow down, you don't want to choke on cheese, bad death for a paladin…_

That last one made me stop, a piece of ham still in my mouth, rubbing my palms against my jerkin.

"Oops." I said to myself, gently, and caught a smirk from Khelgar.

_Uncooth, again._

_But I was hungry!_

Yes, I still had the table manners of a redneck.

"Shit, holy girl…"Bishop stood there with his head tilted sideways. That arrogant smile on his lips made me want to just bash his face in with the pommel of my sword. "If I knew you had such an… appetite, I'd have been more…forthcoming."

"I won't have you speak to her like that, Bishop!" The way Casavir said that sent some cold shivers up my spine. "You _will_ treat her with respect, or…"

"Or what, _m'lord_?" Bishop turned to face him, the smile gone, replaced by that cold and dead look I've always associated with trained killers. "Or you'd order someone from your retinue to kill me …oh, wait, you don't have one anymore, do you? "

Casavir blanched. That general feel of amusement was gone from the room, replaced by something almost as bad as the demon stench in the gith caves. It made me nauseous and sad at the same time.

_How on earth this ranger knows about…?_

"Enough!" Both of them were staring at me. I heard a soft whimper from under the table: Karnwyr was backing away from me. Good. "I don't want to hear something like that ever again. I can fight my own battles, for one," that to Casavir, with a finger in his face, "and for two, I am _thoroughly _sick of underhanded attacks," that to Bishop, with the same finger, more forcefully, digging under his chin, just enough so my nail caught on his skin and he could feel his windpipe contracting, "…so watch it."

I turned away, in the silence that now embraced all of us like a cocoon of some spell. My eyes found Duncan, clearly bewildered, standing there next to the bar; he flinched back, but that was exactly what I needed now. I was next to him with two strides, grabbed his arm and propelled him with me behind the counter, next to the beer kegs, stacks of mugs and various bottles of liquor.

"I need to talk to you. Now."

"Easy, lass, easy." He squirmed a bit, but returned my gaze calm enough, and his voice was soft. "I have no idea what put you in this mood; I reckon you really had to go lean on rations on your way back, and, of course, those two probably crossed horns all the way there and back…but you are here now…so: what can I do for you?"

I realized what he was doing. Daeghun used the same exact same voice to calm down animals that had been injured or just spooked.

"It's about this wound." My finger traced a line from my collarbone to my navel. "You know, the one I got as a child?"

"Now why would you ask me about that right now? " Duncan's brows furrowed. He clearly did not expect that. "Look, we've been through this before, and…"

"Duncan." I said quietly. "There is a piece of something inside that wound. A shard from a silver sword of the githyanki. That's why they were after me all this time…to get the shards I had _with_ me and _in_ me back. And they almost did." I don't know if I sounded as tired as I felt.

"A piece of a sword?" Duncan shook his head. "But…That means you've been carrying around that shard almost your entire life. I..we..had no idea."

_I had no idea…he wanted to say._ I caught that little slip of his, and yet again, I felt that wave of tiredness sweep over me. He was still protecting his half-brother.

"Come on, Uncle." I leaned closer and smiled at him. "Any of my companions can tell you what I vowed I'd do to you if you keep this secrecy shit up…and you know that as vows go, ours are rather serious."

"You…"Duncan's eyes were shifting back and forth between me and various corners of the room where members of our merry little band busied themselves with mostly eating and drinking and pretending really hard not to care about what we were doing. "Lass... you would not threaten me…would you…?"

"Just ask anyone." I raised my voice. "Hey, Neesh!"

"Rig?" The tiefling raised her head from a plate. "Whaddya need?"

"What did I tell you I'd do to Duncan to finally stop lying to me?"

"Weeeell…You'd get him tied to a chair first…" Neeshka popped an apple slice in her mouth, thoughtfully chewed for a while, then looked at Duncan, dead serious. "Then you'd get Grobnar with his lute, and Bishop in the same room and…"

"All right, all right, all right." Duncan swallowed. "Damn, lass, you are worse than some of the boys I run with while adventuring."

"Remember who raised me, Duncan." I risked a cautious smile. "Yes, I am a paladin, but I am also Daeghun's ward…Please. Just tell me."

There was pain in his eyes as he started speaking; I almost regretted asking.

"I reckon you have the right knowing…what with one of those shards actually in you…" He grabbed a mug, filled it from the beer tap and gulped it down as if he was quenching a thirst of a lifetime. He filled another one and pushed it towards me, but I shook my head.

"Very well…There was this battle, as you probably heard already from Daeghun. The King of Shadows himself led an army of demons against the Neverwinter army, which had gathered at the village." He rested his elbows on the polished oak of the bar counter, chin in palm. His eyes were somewhere far away." We were struck suddenly, without warning. There was panic... confusion... people fleeing every which way. "He took a swig from the mug he filled for me. "Daeghun and I…we were assisting some others to get out safe. Only when we reached those ruins not far from West Harbor we had to realize that his wife, Shayla... and your mother, Esmerelle were not with us any more. They stayed behind, to save you." He shook his head. "By the time Daeghun even realized they were missing, it was too late. There was…the battle was literally fought between the houses. Demons, mage fire, arrows…Arrighan, it was horrible. All we could do is watch as everything was consumed…" He lifted his head and looked at me; I saw tears in his eyes.

"You have to understand: it wasn't my decision to keep what happened to your mother from you... Daeghun will be furious I told you."

"Duncan: he told me my mother died in childbirth." I felt cold. "How can that be…?"

"I guess he... he thought it would be too much for you." I felt something else there: something incredibly sad and painful and deeply buried in my uncle's soul. But I could not put a finger on it, not quite. "In any case," he continued, with that faraway look in his eyes, "when us few returned to the village, no one was alive. Except you. "

His hand reached out and covered mine on the table, squeezed my fingers. "We found you amongst the wreckage of your home, you and… Esmerelle." The way he said my mother's name… "You were screaming so loud; that's how we found you, you know. The house was half-collapsed by a blast of magefire, things were burning…There was so much blood and..."

He put the ale mug down on the counter hard, but did not let it go from his grasp. His knuckles were all white and his words fell flat between us, like dead cherry blossoms touched by a late frost.

"You were clutched in her bosom, a deep wound in your chest. She'd tried to shield you, but...The shard must have cut through her and into you. No one knew how you survived. But you did, and your wound sealed itself within days, leaving the scar that you still bear."

Now he looked at me, and there was so much pain in his eyes that I was the one who turned away.

"But if that wound was due to the shard that pierced you then that raises many questions...And I'm afraid I'm just all out of answers."

"That…Duncan, that must not have been easy to share." I whispered. "I am so sorry for…pushing. But I thank you….I needed to hear that."

"That you did, lass." He nodded. "That you did. I always thought that you should have been told when you became of age. I even told that to my brother, but…"he shrugged, "as you well know, he had his own opinion on this matter."

"And how." I murmured. "Did you know he actually had a fistfight with my teacher over this? "

"No way." he said. "What for?"

"Aevan wanted to know more about my parents. And the more Daeghun ducked and dodged, the more insistent he got. He…had a little temper problem, you see."

"So that's where your…irregularities come from, then?" Duncan asked. "As a paladin, I mean?"

"Hmm…I never thought about it that way, but it's possible." I sighed. "About that drink, Duncan…I know I said no but I think I've changed my mind."

I watched him as he poured and took it from his hand. When I turned back, Bishop was watching me with a strange smile on his lips, leaning on the counter.  
"What's with the long face, you two? "he drawled. "Somebody die? If so, sounds like a cause for celebration to me."

I just stared at him, momentarily speechless. Either the man was just the most tactless person in Faerun, utterly devoid of any social graces whatsoever, or he was listening all the time and deliberately tried to be insulting again. As before, conflicting emotions yet again rendered me unable to do anything about it for a long second. My base instincts roared to punch him in the face full force, while my training grabbed me by the neck and screamed at me to calm down, take a deep breath and ignore his newest attempt to goad me into something that would be unworthy of my vows.

Training won: I was proud of myself. I leaned back and sipped on the ale, just looking at him noncommittally. I figured sooner or later he would say what really was on his mind. After spending almost a week on the road with the man, I had some measure of him by now.

Duncan, very wisely, did not say anything either, but the look he threw at Bishop almost copied mine. I had to hide a grin in my mug: even though there was no shared blood between us, sometimes he and I eerily resembled each other.

"By the way…"And yes, the ranger continued, making himself comfortable on one of the chairs in front of the counter, "I've decided it would be in both our interests if I stay on with you." I caught that patronizing tone under his mock cheerfulness, and bit down hard on my tongue not to blurt out the first thing that ran through my mind.

"And why would you do that?" I felt that was suitably cold and noncommittal.

"What? Does a man need a reason?" That smile he had, it just would not reach his eyes. I don't think I've ever seen anything in his eyes other than ice crystals, even when he came on with his most suggestive innuendos. "Come now, holy girl. Duncan's kind request was enough to start this, I think, why not finish it?"

"Start what, Bishop?" I kept my voice even. "For one, I am not going to pay you anything besides recompensing you for your knife, if that's what you are after. And second…"

"No, no, there's no need. "Duncan said quietly next to me. His hand was on my arm. "Bishop, I am sorry for before, but you've already done more than…"

The ranger kept up the smile, even widened it, but his eyes he never took off me, even though he was talking to my uncle.

"Oh, come now, Duncan - I still owe you. And what better way to make it up to you than watching your kin here?" He cocked his head to the side, and lowered his voice. "After all, a debt is a debt... all the way until the end. Isn't that right?"

"We don't need any more of your help, Bishop. " For a paladin, Casavir sure could walk soft when he wanted to—I did not realize that he just materialized at my left elbow. If it was possible to spit a sentence, that was it, right there. I started to get a bit annoyed by how people just kind of barged in on a rather private conversation between Duncan and I, so I glared at him a tad more fierce than necessary, I am afraid…and of course, Bishop picked up on that right away. That man had an almost sick need of stirring up discord, I swear.  
" Why don't you let our leader speak for herself, paladin," That ' paladin' was dripping with contempt, " without you speaking for her, eh? Or is that all right for you highborns, just taking over like that and making decisions for your women?"

I groaned, rather audibly.

"All right, you two, this is it. I am cutting this off, right now. "I looked at Duncan, who rolled his eyes. "Uncle, I want you to serve ale for all of these people, who clearly don't deserve it, but it's better than listening to them bicker. Please." I added, because manners count, I am told.

"Was it like this often?" Duncan asked softly as he started to pull the tab, his hands dancing amongst mugs of froth.

"Don't ask me about our way back, all right?" I stared at the rapidly diminishing food in the middle of the room. "Um…Duncan, would you mind if I nipped back there to grab a bite before Khelgar finishes the whole spread? Awfully nice of you to put it out, though…"

He shook his head.

"I'll never forget the way you just walked in and started grabbing at the food…that was priceless. " He grinned at me, a bit hesitantly. "Will you be all right?"

"Don't worry about me. " I knew he meant both the truth I finally learned and I had to live with, and the little scene we just witnessed. The two participants were now sitting in two opposite corners of the counter, carefully avoiding looking at each other, nursing their drinks.

"So: what's the deal with the girl?" Duncan, again exhibiting surprising tactfulness, decided to change the subject. I was more grateful for that than I could express. While I decidedly was put off by how Bishop seemed to be drawing some kind of sick satisfaction from insinuating there was something between me and Casavir, I was decidedly more annoyed by the fact that the paladin seemed to be rising to the bait.

And this was something that I did not particularly want to dwell on. Maybe that's why it grated on me so badly that lately I lost my temper more than once when those two exchanged increasingly more barbed words.

"She's…she's lost her home, Duncan. Even before this whole kidnapping business happened." I saw Shandra sitting there, between Neeshka and Elanee, looking increasingly more comfortable, but still wary. "And I feel like I am responsible in some way for this whole mess." I gulped down the last of my drink and put the mug down. "I need to talk to her."

"You do that, lass." Duncan nodded. "I'll make sure these two here won't kill each other in the meantime." He winked. "Dunno what happened to paladins since I was adventuring, though. They always seemed so…boring to me. You and yon Casavir here certainly are…different."

I answered with a noncommittal grunt only, thereby probably justifying all his bad opinions, but that was all I could do at the moment.

I got to them just as Khelgar, bless his heart, belched mightily, slapped his belly and announced:

"If she's going to be with us, she'll need to do some catching up... we can't just keep on rescuing her all the time."

"Rescuing me?" Shandra's voice was sharp in response. She swept her hair from spilling in her eyes in one nervous gesture as she looked up at me sitting down on the empty chair by Khelgar. "I can rescue myself!" Neeshka snorted. Shandra looked at her, and then added, a bit quieter. "Okay, sometimes… When there's not too many lizardfolk. Or githyanki."

"Yep, that's a bit more accurate." The tiefling shrugged. "So: what does our great leader say?"

"Khelgar has a point. We need to train you so you'll be able to defend yourself." I looked at the couple of forlorn slices of bread and meat still left on the table wistfully. Elanee got my meaning (that's one smart elf), picked up the plate and put it down in front of me. I smiled. "Um, thanks, El."

"Well... I know enough to use a sword and can handle myself in a fight. I mean, I'm no spellcaster, but if you need an extra blade..."

"That's true. We saw you with that shortsword of yours…and you can run, lass, I give you that." Khelgar nodded, staring at me applying myself to the leftovers. I pulled the plate closer to me.

"Mine." I growled at him. "Don't even think about it, master dwarf."

"So…does that mean I can stay on with you?" Shandra looked at me a bit shyly. She looked much younger now, as if travel on the road somehow washed away the memories of her farm burning away, or the treatment in the githyankis' hands.

I finished my meal, looked around in vain for something to wash it down with (Khelgar made sure there was no more ale in sight). All of them were looking at me expectantly. I still haven't gotten used to this being-a-leader thing, but damn if I was not determined to do my best.

"I told you, Shandra…"I started slowly…"that if I could make it up to you, I would. I did not mean for anything to happen to you or your home." I still remembered vividly how at loss I was on that chaotic, panic-filled night when my own village was under attack, looking at Retta's barn burning.

The next morning, we still had each other, us Harbormen. Shandra had no one to count on.

Best to do this the formal way, then. I stood up and bowed slightly, like Aevan taught me.

"Shandra Jerro, you have my word—I will stand by you. You can travel with us if you like, and I will do my best to teach you what you need to keep up. After all that has happened, I feel like we should do what we can to protect you."

"Oh." Shandra blushed. "Well, I mean, you don't have to go that far, but... uh... thanks." The way she said that, with a lopsided grin at the end, reminded me so much of Amie that I had to fight for composure for a second.

_I missed home…_

"So the farm girl's going to join our band?" Damn, but that ranger's ears were good. From across the room, Bishop's drawl sounded vaguely amused. "Good. We need someone to make up for the paladin - or at least to catch arrows if Grobnar's already dead."

Shandra and Neeshka rolled their eyes at me in such perfect agreement, that I could not help it and snickered; and the mood was considerably lightened.

"Maybe one of the first moves I teach you will be some kicks." I suggested to Shandra. "Just for those pure theoretical cases, you understand…"

Snicker from the left.

"But no, seriously. "I waved my hands. "You never know. I mean, there are all kinds of drunks around here occasionally…"

Snicker from the right.  
"Laughing now, moose-breath." I tried to look at Neeshka with something resembling dignity. "Next time he tries one of his moves on you, I'll just stand aside and watch. How's that?"

She grinned.

"I think he keeps those for you. He's just mean to me, but I can handle that." She turned to Shandra. "The problem with the ranger, in case you haven't noticed yet, is that he's a hunter. _And_ he thinks he's a predator, too." Her smile widened. "And he sees everything in those terms. "

"He gives me the shivers." said Elanee with a serious expression on her face. "And he smells like death. Do we really need him?"

"I don't command anyone to follow me, you know that. "I stretched my legs a little bit more comfortably under the table. "Likewise, if he decides to tag along…"I shrugged. "He is almost as good a tracker as my foster-father, and that's saying something. Honestly, we might be able to use him."

Snicker from Khelgar, this time.

"And I'd thank you not to make snide remarks. Khelgar, please." I added. "I thought that was reserved for only one person in this circus."

"Wasn't saying nothin'. "the dwarf muttered into his beard. "'Specially when you are in that mood, Little'Un. "

"Yeah, and wanted to take my food too. " I noticed Shandra was looking at us weird. "You'll get used to it." I said to her, encouragingly. "I know it sounds like there is fight about to break out, but…"

"No, it's not that." She shook her head. "You all…remind me of…well, like some conversations I remember from my childhood…at home, at the dinner table. You sound like family."

And that was that. Khelgar grunted, Neeshka waved her tail above her head and stuck her tongue out at me, Elanee sighed exasperatedly and went to the kitchen to get more food, her ill-tempered badger, Naloch in tow. Duncan came by with a bottle of actual wine and Qara, scowling, inscrutable Qara, arrived from the storeroom with some apples, announcing that these need eating otherwise they got spoiled, and pointedly ignoring Khelgar's suggestion to roast them tableside. Grobnar's lute chords wafted to our table from the corner by the fire he sat…I looked around and caught a mock salute from Bishop, glass in hand….

"Excuse me for a second." I said, as I realized someone was missing. "I'll be right back."

I found him back in the courtyard, staring at the slowly rising moon above the rooftop, his cloak wrapped around him. I did not want to disturb him if he was praying, but when he heard the door creaking shut behind me, he turned.

I could see his profile sharply in the moonlight; as always, it amazed me again with its perfection. I wondered for a moment, absurdly, whether any of the oldest coins from the founding of the city had profiles similar to his on them. After all, his family was here…

"Hey." I said quietly. "Is there something wrong?"

A sigh escaped him and his shoulders lowered as if some weight lifted from them.

"Forgive me, my lady. I did not intend to…cast a shadow on what, for all intends and purposes, should be a joyous return."

"Nothing to forgive. I know you have your own…things to think about." That did not sound the way I intended it to. Nevermind. I plunged on, determined, just like in battle. "I just noticed you were gone, and…well, if you need some quiet, I can go back and make sure Khelgar does not challenge Uncle Dunk for an armwrestling contest…" I _really_ hoped he would smile, but there was a deep sadness on his face that concerned me. "You seem troubled. Anything I can help?"

"Bishop. "he said, slowly. "I don't trust him." He hesitated for a second. "And I don't like the way he looks at you."

I snorted.

"As long as he does nothing else but looks…"I bit down on the rest of that sentence, but too late: the scandalized look on his face was unmistakable. "Well, there I go again, with my Harborman manners. Just make sure I never have to attend court, Sir Casavir. Or that you are there with me to kick me." I put a hand on his arm. "Listen, I appreciate the concern, really. And that you…well, you look out for me. I…did not realize you cared."

That guarded, inscrutable expression was back on his face again, like the portcullis of a castle.

"Forgive me..."he said again. "It's not my affair, I just felt compelled to warn you, my lady. I know you are more than capable of taking care of yourself."

"Say that next time we spar." I grumbled. "And it's about time someone tells me that. The capable part, I mean." I looked at him. "So: should I just give up on trying to cheer you up and sulk away, or will you come back to the Inn like a nice companion?"

"I'll never…" Ha! There was that small, barely escaping laugh again. I felt like punching the air triumphantly, the way Bevil and I did after winning the Harvest Brawl. Why, a couple more months, and he might actually crack some jokes. "Yes, of course, my lady. Lead on."

Fortunately, there was no arm wrestling that night. I was mightily relieved about that, unlike about the bill my esteemed uncle presented to me next morning. I seriously considered having a sitdown with Khelgar for a minute or two. Then I looked at him as he was holding his head over his oatmeal and decided against it. I gathered Shandra and Neeshka instead and headed out to sell some junk we had no use for at some pawnshop Neeshka swore had the best prices. I hoped for some serious money so I could actually plunk down for a month of so for Duncan. Paying ahead seemed to be a more prudent option as he had chronic cash flow problems himself. Shandra needed equipment, too: the ragtag assembly of loaner clothes and that old shortsword she had hardly qualified for anything resembling adventuring gear.

So the next few days were busy. I had to do some serious budgeting with paper and ink and a lot of numbers; as a result, Neeshka needed to give up some stashed-away gems she somehow forgot to tell us about. We forced Khelgar to dig up some weapons and armor parts from the depths of his room and I remembered that the armorsmith around the corner allowed us to use his smithy way back when because I smiled at him. So I sent the dwarf around with those old parts and he managed to fix something up for Shandra that was rather better than I hoped for. She was absurdly pleased with that, but stopped smiling after the first day of training in the courtyard. Elanee had to get busy with her bruise potions real fast.

I managed a visit to the Temple as well: I had to thank Brother Colm for my armor after all. Casavir was right: the man was an artist. I looked at some of the pieces he worked on for the resident knights and probably was too lavish with my praise, as for some reason or other he got all red as a beetroot and tongue-tied. I thought that was rather sweet, considering he was almost seven feet tall and built like a berserker from the North.

I haven't forgotten that night when Lorne Starling walked into the Flagon either. Wolf, Dory, Vana and the rest of them scoured the Docks for any sign of a tattooed giant wearing furs, but to no avail. I finally, after much fretting, allowed them to venture to other Districts.

"They might even be safer, all considering. "Casavir offered when I shared my concerns with him after a particularly hard training session. "As long as they can keep their hands to themselves. "he added, as an afterthought.

"You mean Auntie Neeshka was giving them lessons again? " I groaned. "She swore she'd keep her business out of the Flagon!"

"She does, my lady. " He scooted over on the bench Duncan brought out to the courtyard for us so I can sit too. "This is more of an…education, the way I understand."

I stared at him over the edge of my linen towel. The sun was shining brightly and he drove me hard: I was sweating up a storm.

"You cannot possibly mean that." My eyes narrowed. "No, you really do…Casavir, this is the principle of the thing. She starts to improve their skills as a cutpurse today, and she'll try and recruit them to work for her over at the _Dead Duck_ or the _One-Eyed Captain_ the next!"

"Or she just tries to make sure they have the necessary skills to spot the more experienced thieves for your uncle." The man was calm as the unshakeable heavens. "Neeshka admires you my lady, and she'd never do anything that might endanger your good standing with the Watch."

"Admires. Right." I took a swig from the waterskin hanging from the back of the bench. "That's why she was hiding those gems, I am sure. Anyways, I hope they will find some trace of Lorne, I really do. I promised his mother I find out what happened to him." I hesitated. "Um…Casavir…I was wondering if you could…um, help me with something?"

"My lady?"He was looking at me curiously. "But of course."

So I told him what I was planning to do at the Inn that day.

"The others all agreed already. I mean, _Qara_ was pestering Uncle Dunk about just how vile the place looks lately." I explained while we gathered our equipment and headed inside. "And it's not that we don't have the time right now. We can get away with keeping the Inn closed until the evening today, too. "I slowed down. "I know this is not probably...what comes around often in our normal line of duties, but…"

"My lady…"He stalled me with his raised hands, "no need for explaining. I had my fair share of cleaning duties as a novice at the chapter house; it builds character, they say." There was that faint smile on his lips again, the one I grew quite fond of lately. "Despite my upbringing, once I was indicted into the mysteries of the god, I assure you I was not spared manual labor, as none of the novices were." He paused. "Excepting, of course, cooking: as you well know my skills in that regard."

I shuddered.

"And so does our entire little band, my dear Sir." I still remembered how impressed I was by the distance Khelgar spat out the stew Casavir made on the first and only night he prepared our camp dinner. "So: you'll help us clean up the place, then?"

"Just tell me what you need me to do." he assured me: the smile was still there. My day was looking up, despite what unpleasant chores lie ahead.

And so started what Neeshka dubbed as All Curtains Must Die Day at the Sunken Flagon's common room. Our merry little band descended on the place like a scourge of cleaning imps, our armor and weapons replaced for this day with our most ragged clothes, brooms, mops, bottles of vinegar and pails full of sudsy water. Neeshka and Elanee held deep grudges against the purple-black curtains Duncan had up against the windows: they both claimed their weave clashed horribly with the stenciled walls. Off they came, despite Duncan's protests that they were memorabilia from his travels.  
"If those were the memories of something, Duncan, you'd do better without those nightmares. "Neeshka announced, her red hair hidden under a kerchief: she looked adorable. "We found something much better; once done with the scrubbing, they'll go up and will cheer this place right up."

"I don't want to cheer it up!" Duncan groaned. "This is my inn, and I like those curtains just fine, lass."

"No, you don't." Shandra looked up at him, grinning from scrubbing the bar counter. "You just got used to them. I saw how you stared at them the other day, and let me tell you…"

"Hey." Duncan said warily. "You spying on me or what?"

"She just likes to watch you." Neeshka said innocently while starting on the other end of the counter. "She says you have a nice…"

At that point, I am afraid, there was a wet scrubbing rag tossed rather forcefully at the tiefling, but it got caught out of the air by her tail and flung back in a graceful arch, barely missing Shandra, who squealed and responded by flicking some water at Neeshka.

"Children…" Elanee shook her head while carefully dusting off the three dozen shelves upon which my uncle's various adventuring memorabilia were gathering…well, dust. "I wonder what the last time anyone cleaned this place was."

"The previous owner of the inn, maybe? "I offered, tentatively. I patted my hair, making sure my kerchief did not get dislodged—I had longer tresses than Neeshka, and it has been a while since I had to scrub such a dirty floor. It tired me out faster than I would have thought. "If I ever see my foster father again, I'll be sure to tell him that his half-brother sorely lacks in the cleanliness department, he'll be pleased to hear that. Hey! Duncan!" I raised my voice. "Is it possible to get something from you to fortify us for the next corner's horrors here, or should the two best paladins in Faerun be forever thirsty, slaving to keep yon floor spotless for nothing but the view of your backside?"

I glanced at Casavir next to me to make sure I did not offend (I still had to remind myself to be cautious with my humor around him).

That's when we heard the door. As I looked up, I saw Duncan froze in mid-motion.

"We are closed, y…"he started to say, but that got cut off, as the person standing in the door came further in, looked around and spoke with the crisp, no-nonsense tone of a man accustomed to power.

"Innkeep, I am looking for one Lieutenant Arrighan Pendwyr of the City Watch…I am told she lodges here."

"Ooooh…"I heard Neeshka's long whistle. "Rig, that's one of the Nine!"

"I have eyes, too, Neesh." I said quietly. By now, I recognized that blue tunic and short military cape, with its embroidered symbol of an eye on the chest. I even spoke to one of them in passing at the Watch House. But this one, I have not seen before.

"I think you found her. "I called out and stood up, keenly aware of the circumstances: he wearing his full formal Nine uniform, me in a torn linen shirt and trousers cut off at mid-calf, holding a scrubbing brush, head covered with a blue paisley kerchief. I went for a formal bow, indicating I was more than the cleaning maid. "How may I be of assistance, Sir…?"

"Nevalle." Casavir was standing as well. His bow was curt, almost a mere nod. "Sir Nevalle of the Nine." His eyes were like a pair of frozen lake.

"My lord Korranos." The man called Nevalle nodded back: his voice was measured and even. "We heard the rumors of your return, but could not confirm."

"Let's dispose of false courtesies, Sir Nevalle." Casavir shook his head impatiently." I am just Casavir, servant of our god Tyr. What business you have here with her?"

Sir Nevalle chose to ignore that comment, and looked at me: pale grey-blue eyes studied my face for what seemed to be a full minute before he spoke again. What he said chilled me to the bone.

"I am here because Luskan has accused you of murder - an entire village, no less. Have you heard of Ember?"

My mind went blank just then; I could not quite comprehend what he was saying.

_Houses looking abandoned, all locked; no livestock around either. Us, all armed and armored, at the outskirts, just before the first githyanki ambush of that day._

"That tiny village near Port Llast? Why…that does not make any sense. Why would I?" I heard myself as if through a curtain.

Nevalle sighed: a surprisingly human sound from one of those men I've heard stories about since I was a child. Lord Nasher's bodyguards were legendary even in West Harbor.

"May I…?" he indicated the only table and chair that was not upturned or covered in suds. "This might take a while."

"Of course…" I chided myself for lack of manners. "Please do sit. "I looked around for my uncle. "Duncan, could we…?"

"Drinks and discretion." Bless his heart. He pursed his lips and nodded. "We had the Nine's business before, and will not disappoint now either."

Nevalle took the chair and looked at me.

"You are…somehow different from what I expected, Lieutenant."

"The story of my life. "I sighed and sat on the edge of the table. The smile that played on his lips following that comment suffused his face with life, but was gone fast with his next sentence.

"Look, the charges are all filed in triplicate copies, furnished by the Luskan ambassador, Torio Claven: have you had dealings with her?"

I just shook my head, trying to stay calm. A brush of a silver-blue presence by my side—Casavir was standing there, just close enough that I could feel his slowly building anger.

"Not with her, no. I crossed paths with some Luskans before, though…" I said, cautiously.

"And I've scraped things from my boot that I respect more than Luskan." Nevalle stopped, as Duncan appeared with a jug of wine and two cups. I nodded thanks, while he dispensed of the drinks and dematerialized just as quietly as he came.

"That is a rather strong statement from one so high: is this an official opinion of the court as well?" I raised an eyebrow while sipping on the wine.

"Obviously not…"he stopped, startled. "No, you are definitely not just a young Watch officer: that was an expert remark of…"

"The lady Arrighan is my sister in Tyr, Nevalle." Casavir snapped. "You'd do well to respect her."

"That's why I am _here_, Casavir, and that's why _she_ is not in a prison cell yet, in case you were wondering." There was a touch of impatience in Nevalle's voice now. "If you'd stop for a second thinking I am out to get you and _listen_…"

"We are, Sir Nevalle." I interjected. "Please do continue: I assure you I understand just how serious a situation this is."

"Forgive me, my lady." Casavir murmured. "I forgot myself. If you wish me to leave, I…"

"No. This is a matter of accusations and justice, and as such you should be a witness." I used the formal cadences of our order to get the conversation back on track. "Sir Nevalle, like my brother in Tyr here says, I serve our god to the best of my ability…and these charges are…"I stopped, looking for a word, "…preposterous would be a mild way to put it. I traveled through that village on a rescue mission with my companions; most definitely did not slaughter it."

His face was grim now: the fine lines around his mouth set into determined lines.

"And I believe you. But unless we find some means of clearing you of these charges, we will have to surrender you to them."

"You believe her… and you'd still…?"

" We've signed a treaty with Luskan, Sir Casavir, in case you've forgotten your recent history." Those two just could not stop exchanging barbed words. "They have the right to dispense low justice for any crimes committed on their soil, Lieutenant." He turned back to me. "But I am not turning over a loyal member of the Watch to some Luskan dog on this day or another. "

I sighed.

"I thank you for your honesty, Sir Nevalle." He nodded. "So: how do I prove my innocence?"

He sipped on his wine, then rubbed his nose.

"Just so that we are clear about what's at stake here: your guilt is preordained in a Luskan court. If they get a hold of you…Luskan is ruled by mages, there is no secular justice there, not even clerical such as Tyr's." He leaned closer, lowered his voice. " If you were a knight, lord, or a squire, even, however, matters would be different. You would be subject to high justice, and your trial would take place here in Neverwinter before Lord Nasher."

"Oh." I felt Casavir's hand on my arm then, squeezing slightly. "I see…So: what do you want me to do?"

"Nevalle…" He practically growled. "If this is…"

" Sir Casavir, there is no time for honor games right now!" Nevalle snapped: Casavir's head came up and I saw lighning in his eyes. "Lieutenant: I need you to go see Sir Grayson, one of Lord Nasher's most trusted knights, and become his squire." He hesitated. "I may also send a... friend of mine... to assist you. He has proven invaluable in such cases in the past."

"Become his squire." I said slowly. "That sounds like…"

_That sounds like a plot that was carefully calculated, rehearsed and planned out…and obviously from the highest places, otherwise it would not be this man telling it to me…_I thought, but found it much wiser not to say it.

Nevalle's voice was firm as he stood up, emptying his wineglass.

"Mind you, the matter must still go to trial, and if you cannot prove your innocence, then you will face execution."

Just what I needed to hear for encouragement. I felt the world narrowing down to the chiseled cheekbones of this aristocratic warrior in front of me.

"For now, let us deal with what we can - see Sir Grayson at once. He is visiting his niece, Captain Brelaina from his country estates at the moment, I am told."

"I see." The numbness started to reach further in my body, spreading outward from my heart towards my limbs. "I shall go at once, Sir Nevalle." I hoped that was the right answer, and I was relieved to see a brief smile playing on his pursed lips again.

"Pledging yourself to Neverwinter's service will give us time to counter these Luskan lies. " He hesitated. "And one more thing…I don't like this at all, but I am under orders to tell you: until you answer for these charges, the gates of the city will be barred to you - seek out Grayson, but do not leave the city." He turned from me, looking at Casavir now, clearly torn. The he visibly shook himself and thrust out his hand.

"Milord…Sir Casavir…I, for one, am glad you have returned." His voice was firm, with only a slight tremble in it. "And I am gladdened that I found you here, with her."

There was a tense second between them, wrought with something I could not quite place yet; Casavir's silver-and-blue aura swirled with emotions. Then he accepted the offered hand, clasping Nevalle's wrist in a firm grip of one warrior's greeting to another. Another second: Nevalle's blue cape swirled, and he was gone from the Flagon, just as suddenly as he appeared.

As outraged squeaks from Neeshka, enraged bellows from Khelgar and furious curses from Duncan washed over me in the wake of his departure, all I could do is bunch my hands into fists to control the urge to grab the empty glass in front of me and hurl it with full force against the inn door.

Slaughter of an entire village! By Tyr's holy name--who came up with this? And, more importantly, why?


	12. Make Me A Witness

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**Disclaimers:**

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections.**

**There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things.**

**For this chapter the following songs were playing lending inspiration: _Witness_ by Sarah McLachlan from _Surfacing_; _Rondes _from the soundtrack of the movie _Elizabeth (_this one is for Sir Grayson), and _Lullaby_ by Loreena McKennitt, from _Elemental_.**

**Finally, and regretfully, I do not own any of the main characters… Arrighan is entirely my fault, though…J**

**Chapter Twelve**

The inevitable question loomed before me again, filling me with dread.

"So…what do I wear?"

"Dear girl…" Sand rubbed his palms together. The wizard was having fun with this, I had to realize. I seriously considered going after Sir Nevalle and kicking him hard for attaching this particular agent of the Nine to me. I understood the logic of it, sure, and if I dug deep enough I was even grateful for it, but Sand was just so…I could not even describe it. I mean, I got along just fine with Elanee, who is also an elf…

"This should be almost elementary, I think. You are meeting Sir Grayson to be his squire. You just go up to your room and put on your shining armor like a nice paladin. That should suffice for this particular task. After you are through with this and you are presented to our lord Nasher Alagondar, though…" He looked me up and down, as I stood there in my linen shirt and trousers…"We'll _definitely _have to find something for that."

"I _got _nice clothes, you know." I started towards the stairs, slightly offended. "Just don't wear them often…"

"One of these days, my dear…" Sand sighed, "I will have to take you on an extended tour of Blacklake so you see what 'nice clothes' really mean." He made that 'tsk,tsk' sound again that already grated on my nerves. "Just like your uncle in that regard."

"Foster-uncle." I said automatically. Now I was offended; so I continued using a decidedly cooler tone. "Talk to Neeshka about the merchant I use, please, before you make any further comments regarding my wardrobe. Maybe you can even go with her to arrange for something while I am at the Watch house?"

_And that should do quite nicely_…I thought to myself while doubling the steps to my room. Hopefully he will tone down the remarks a bit and stop making me feel every time he talks to me that he's doing me a personal favor by assisting my case. Which he did not, given that he was ordered to do so by Nevalle.

I made record time putting my armor on, and when I reappeared downstairs I had seen with some twinge of sadness that our happy little cleaning party was over and done with. "At least we got those curtains down." I said to Neeshka wistfully.

"We'll just have to finish without you." She waved her tail at me, but without much enthusiasm. "You be careful with them high society, you hear?"

"Thanks, Neesh…" I looked around to see that just about everyone else was staring at me with more or less open worry in their eyes. "And everyone else." I adjusted the cord of my cloak and looked at Sand who tried to pretend he was studying his nails. "We can go, master wizard, if you are ready."

"Are you sure you don't want…anyone with you?" Shandra looked at me with such lost- puppy eyes that I almost hugged her.

"I am reasonably sure I can handle this on my own for now." I gave her shoulder a squeeze. "I'll be sure to take you with me in case there's an audience with Nasher or something, so you can see the palace. I am told it is beautiful."

"Most certainly there will be one." Casavir hovered at the door." If this is as I suspect, Sir Grayson will take you to Nasher as soon as your vigil is over to gain the High Court's protection on you."

"Vigil?" I looked up to him: I just realized I was about to enter a world he moved in since he was born.

"To become a squire, you will need to spend a night at the Solace Glade in contemplation." He stepped closer. "My lady, if you wish, I can go with you and…"

"Thank you." I suspected just how difficult it was for him to say that. That previous little encounter with Nevalle clearly showed to me just how much tension he kept in check ever since we returned to Neverwinter. "I really do. I know this is…not easy for you; it must seem your old life is creeping back on you. I am sorry. But I need to do this on my own. It is I who was accused of this crime, and only me." I attempted a smile. "When I am back, I am sure I will be full of questions about my new duties. Shall we talk, then?"

He studied my face for a second.

"Aye, my lady. I will be waiting." The way he said that…the look is his ocean-deep blue eyes…_surely _I was just imagining that …

"Well, dear girl, I am ready." drawled Sand; I jumped. "Done with tearful farewells?"

"Bloody elf…" I murmured under my breath as we set out; I was still too stunned from all that happened. That Luskan dared to accuse a paladin of Tyr of mass murder clearly showed that whatever I was doing has hit a nerve somehow, with some higher-ups in the Arcane Brotherhood.

_Best to stop daydreaming and start using your head, Arrighan…_

"Sand?" I asked as we hurried through the throng of afternoon traffic in the Docks, towards the Dolphin Bridge leading to the Merchant District. "You know much about Luskan, right? That's why you work for the Nine in the Docks, and that's why Nevalle wanted you to aid me?"

"Formidable from one so young." he said after a brief pause. "You are not too far from the truth, so keep talking."

"What do you think they want to achieve by this?" I asked. "I mean: I am Tyr's sworn servant. Whoever set this up must know that we rarely get into the habit of massacring villages."

"Go on…" sad Sand, carefully stepping around the steaming leavings of an ox-driven cart in front of us. Business was brisk.

"So…" I continued, hopping over said leavings, "they had to be pretty sure they had some solid evidence against me that might warrant anyone even to consider these charges. I mean, all I have to do is stand up and swear that I did not do this. Paladins never lie, everyone knows that."

"Ah-ha." Sand nodded. "And therein lies the crux of the matter, my dear." He tapped his nose with one of his elegant fingers. "Paladins never lie."

"Sand!" I could not quite believe what he was implying. "You mean they would try to prove I am not…"

"Ah, I keep forgetting that you are not actually related to Duncan. You have brains." He nodded. "Yes, that is exactly what I am saying. You come from this stinking swamp village, no offense…"

"None taken…" I assured him hastily; my head was spinning as I tried to follow our joint reasoning.

"…you claim divine powers, show up in Neverwinter with a dwarf, an elf and a tiefling in tow, take up residence in a less than reputable inn instead of appealing to the chapterhouse's hospitality as any brother or sister of the order would do, do shady jobs for the Watch that involve arrest or disposal of several Luskan citizens, including confiscation of their possessions…" Sand just kept going. "To add to that, you have in your company a disgraced member of the city's aristocracy, who left Neverwinter after a scandal that centered upon his own father besmirching Tyr's justice and then having the audacity of asking his own son to fight for him in trial of combat…"

"Hold it right there." I stopped in the middle of the bridge and stared at him. "What was that last bit?"

"Ah." Sand shook his head. "I was under the impression his past was known to you." He wrinkled his forehead. "If I breached some obscure human…"

"Never you mind; there is no time." I started out again, muttering something decidedly unsavory under my breath. _Later. Much later, when all of this is over, I'll get him drunk, possibly myself as well, and finally work up the courage to grab him by the throat and ask for the whole story so I don't get blindsided by seemingly everyone…_

"So you are saying that not only I am an unwashed hick from the swamps who has delusions of grandeur, I am in alliance with Casavir to trick people into believe we are holy warriors, when in truth we are fallen paladins scrambling to further the sinister agenda of whatever evil deities we've succumbed to?"

"And you think you are making a joke, I am sure." Sand took my elbow and steered me around a street vendor selling sweetmeats: a considerable feat given that he was shorter than me and I was in armor. "My dear, while we are working on this case, you will have to learn that there is no thing Luskan would not do if it aids whatever the current agenda of the Hosttowers is." He patted my hand. "Do let me, however, worry about the details of defending you. Right now we have to make sure you make a good impression on Sir Grayson, and that you survive your night of vigil. After that, we will worry about getting you presentable for your audience with Lord Nasher, and after that, whatever the outcome of that meeting will be. One step at the time."

"To survive my vigil." I said slowly. "Are you saying now that there is a chance I might not?"

"I am saying that this night will be the first time in a long while when you'll be completely alone." Sand's face was serious. "And given that this trial is a desperate move in itself, that they expect us to counter…well, it would not be the first time certain members of some assassin guilds steal into our fair city undercover."

"I am not cut for this, Sand. "I sighed. "Spies, undercover assassins, plots to discredit me and get me hanged…why the effort? I mean, if I am really just a hedge-paladin from a swamp village…Why bother with all the complicated plots and plans?"

"Ah, that would be the paladin speaking there, or the Harborman, and not the _aasimar_, I think." Sand made that sound again. I really needed to tell him to stop 'tsk, tsk'-ing me, I did not appreciate that from Retta Starling either when I was eight. "May I ask that for the time being you try and wear that particular hat less often and the latter a bit more frequently? I need you to use your head, not to be full of inferiority complex or righteous but misplaced anger. Look, child, "he added with a touch of impatience in his voice as we came up on the Watch House, "there is obviously someone very highly placed in Luskan who wants you out of the picture because you mixed up whatever carefully laid plans they had. The extra added effort must be because of your heritage, and because of the things you carry."

"The Master of the Fifth Tower." I said slowly as I suddenly remembered something from that chaotic day at the Docks. "That wizard on the _Sea Ghost_, the Luskan ship the Watch made me search and intercept…he named a Master of the Fifth Tower who wanted me dead."

"Luskan has _four_ towers, Arrighan." Sand looked at me. "There is no such thing as Master of the Fifth Tower…unless…" He snapped his fingers. "I need to do some research, obviously, and soon. Let me entrust you to the gentle care of Sir Grayson Corett, then." He flashed a smile. "And don't worry, I'll go back to the Flagon and tell your merry little band you are just fine before I set out to uncover this mysterious Master. Especially to your fellow paladin there, who looked like he was ready to charge and fight every Luskan single-handed for your honor…" His eyes were gleaming and I swear his pointy ears were set forward like a good bloodhounds's when scenting a particularly juicy prey. "In you go, child. "He actually tried to push me forward towards the gate: that was mildly amusing. "Do give my regards to that beautiful captain of yours, please. Now shoo!"

I was still shaking from laughter as I signed the logbook downstairs and took the stairs to Brelaina's office. That mood, however, quickly disappeared as I noticed that a couple of younger Watch officers were leaning together and whispering as they spotted me. I caught some stray threads of various conversations in the waiting room as I crossed it, inevitably: 'village of…', '…cannot be possible, she's a pa…', '…I am telling you, Will, she'd always had a tendency to…', …'bullshit I say, those Luskans just…', '…but then why's she hanging out with some…'.

_The news sure spread quickly enough_…I thought sourly as I knocked on Brelaina's office door and entered following her brisk permission, closing the door behind me carefully..

"Ah, Lieutenant Pendwyr." Brelaina rose from behind her desk. She was alone. "It is always good to see you." That, in itself was alarming. The fact that she was smiling too, was even more so. I've never seen her doing that before. "What can I do for you?"

I was just about to ask the same, when there was a knock right behind me.

"Ah, do pardon me, Lieutenant, we have a busy day today. Enter!" she called out.

"Brelaina, my dear, I was just about to leave and…" The man in the door did a double take as he spotted me. "By Tyr's name!" He started forward, gripped my hand and started intently into my eyes. "Arrighan Pendwyr, may the god's blessings be upon you! I've heard from Nevalle about your predicament, and I must say, dear lady, that it is fortunate indeed to meet you here."

"Why, it is…kind of you, Sir…?" That's all I managed to say; his grip was so firm on my hand that I barely had a chance to really notice just how short the man was.

"I am Sir Grayson Corett." He beamed at me. "My sword is sworn to Nasher, Neverwinter and Tyr." He finally released my hand, and bowed, sweeping a wide arc with his arm.

What he lacked in stature, he surely made up for in gestures and clothing. He had the longest mustachios I've seen, waxed and slightly twirled upwards, and thick black hair falling on his shoulders in ringlets. I could see a stiff-starched lace collar over his shiny breastplate, and similar cuffs were peeking out from under his vambraces. That instantly made him likeable: any man who favored lace and was not afraid to wear it was fine with me. Blued curlicues covered large surfaces of his armor, and instead of plate boots, he wore high riding boots in supple black leather, tooled with the same motifs as his armor. And all of this served as a background for a smile that beamed out of every pore of the man, ending in the pale blue of his eyes.

"Uncle, you are trying to be subtle again." Brelaina leaned back in her chair. I could see the family resemblance between them: wide, generous mouth and straight, narrow nose. "Lieutenant Pendwyr here knows why you are here, so don't even try to pretend this was a chance meeting." She raised an eyebrow at me. "I am assuming you were told to seek Sir Grayson here, yes?"

"Indeed, Captain, but…"I started to say when I was cut off again.

"My dear niece, you surely don't want this to seem as a…preplanned meeting now, do you?" Sir Grayson winked at me. "The fact that it so happens I have need of a squire and I was in your office bemoaning the fact when the good Lieutenant chanced to visit you surely cannot be contrived as anything more than Lady Tymora's blessing?"

"Surely not." I felt that dizziness again: events clearly moved faster than I could follow; being in the center of all this scheming decidedly did not improve the condition of my stomach either. And Sir Grayson proved to be…a little different than I expected. "Sir Grayson, I must admit that I am a bit…"

"Ah, don't you worry, dear heart. " That expansive bow again. "You should, in fact, count yourself lucky to avoid years of caring for my horse and scouring the rust from my arms and armor." Those laughing eyes turned serious all of a sudden as he tapped my shoulder lightly. "Your need is great—so I'll take you as my charge."

"Sir Grayson: that's it?" I heard myself say incredulously. Great: now I really sounded like a country bumpkin. "And I am a squire? "

I liked his laugher: it was warm and musical. He grabbed a chair from the sideboard and gestured for me to sit, then got one for himself.

"No, not quite so simple, even though I very much hoped for something like that when I myself came to this fair city decades ago, with nothing but my old horse, my sword, and the proud name of my ancestors." he continued as he took his seat; Brelaina watched us with barely contained amusement on her face. "Years of service, including aforementioned armor scrubbing, however, will be passed over in your case; were that I could say the same about my time as a squire! "He leaned forward, intently. "But to cut to the chase: yes, it falls to me to teach you chivalry, so that you will not dishonor me overmuch as your knight."

He probably barely passed forty, judging by the wrinkles in the corner of his eyes and some silver strands in his hair, but he almost audibly vibrated with energy and life. He also could not sit still. His hands, slender, pale and graceful, were in continuous motion: now in front of his face, now on his lace cuffs, now on the hilt of his sword, worn smooth by use.

"I will be honored to serve as your squire. "I said, bowing slightly before I sat. I hoped that was the correct response and I was delighted to see his smile again.

"Very good, very good. You appear capable of defending yourself, so we'll not discuss that." he said, indicating my armor with a sweeping motion. "But I still need to make you familiar with the basic tenets, if I may?"

"Of course, Sir Grayson. "I said. "I am listening."

"You must understand that usually prospective squires spend months - even years - proving themselves before they are permitted to enter the nobility." What I thought was a slightly patronizing overtone gradually disappeared from his voice as if, with formally taking up my education for squirehood, I somehow became different. "But my dear Brelaina and Sir Nevalle both vouch for your character and your ability. And I have heard of your exploits in the city, as well. Quite impressive, if I may say so. "

"You praise me beyond what I deserve, Sir Grayson." I blushed slightly.

"You are proving all that they told me every moment we are here. "he said, quietly. Then, before I could say anything, briskly: "Now, on to serious matters: the brotherhood of knights is one bound by the ideals of chivalry and honor. And the same goes for sisters, of course. "he added. "Without honor, you understand, a knight is nothing more than an animal with a sword. To be a knight is to lead a life of duty and responsibility. We are bound by a code that prescribes our every action." His movements became more agitated, as he warmed into his speech, his melodious voice falling and rising, his dark hair and his white lace collar framing his pale face like an old time-worn icon of one of Tyr's battle-archons. He obviously was quoting from some chivalric honor code that I made a mental note to seek out and study as soon as I had an opportunity. "As you happen to be already consecrated to our god Tyr, please do let me know when I am lapsing into repetition of what your instructor already impressed upon you."

"Sir Grayson, as you no doubt heard from both Captain Brelaina and Sir Nevalle about my upbringing, I assure you I am listening intently to everything you say." I assured him, forcing a smile on my lips. I sincerely hoped he was not one of those nobles who could give an insult while being impeccably polite. I started to really like him.

"Very well, then." He cleared his throat as if before a recitation: that was strangely endearing, too. "To be brave and valorous in battle against your enemies. To show no fear in their presence. To be just and righteous, to embody and uphold the laws of your lord and land. To be respectful to your enemies and kind to your fellows. To protect the weak and those who cannot defend themselves. All squires have these rules impressed upon them, by rote and lash." He paused and raised a finger. "But I suspect that you are mature enough to take the lesson without the cuffing, yes?"

"I understand my, duty, Sir Grayson…" I said. Then , a bit hesitantly: " But I must ask a question, if I may?" He nodded, so I continued. "What if "the laws of my lord and land" require me to act unrighteously?" For all intents and purposes, I was sure I was supposed to be quiet and obedient and just listen and nod. But something made me to say that; thinking back I was quite sure it was because of the snippets of Casavir's past I've heard from Sand that day.

Sir Grayson shook his head.

"To serve your land _is _to act righteously, Arrighan. If your cause is noble, so, too, are the actions you take in its name." His voice grew stern. "What wouldn't you do to see your home protected, to know that your loved ones are sleeping soundly each night?"

I thought about Amie's smile as she twirled in her new skirt at the fair; about Bevil's shy grin after a well-placed shot at the archery contest; about Retta's blackberry pie, warm out of the oven; Shandra tossing the wet washrag at Neeshka in the Flagon, laughing; the warm glow of Casavir's aura next to me as we stood in the courtyard, his profile in the moonlight…

"There is nothing I wouldn't do." Even I was surprised how firm my voice was.

"Then we are of the same mind." Sir Grayson nodded, and his face grew soft again. "Knowing the code of conduct is important for a knight or squire, but living by that code is paramount." There was that lifted finger again, emphasizing a point. "To be a knight is also to live a life of service to your lord and realm. You will be expected to perform certain duties for the crown. Given your unique circumstance, these duties will be waiting for you after the trial."

I was _so _looking forward to some additional duties stacking up on the ones I already had as a Watch officer and a paladin of Tyr. Nevertheless, I nodded.

"However," Sir Grayson continued, "there is one observance that cannot be postponed - the vigil."

Here we were. The thing practically everyone warned me about.

"Your vigil is a time for reflection and contemplation. It is a sacred tradition - all who would become squires spend a night in the Solace Glade." Sir Grayson paused, regarded me for a second, then added. "You must spend the night alone, of course."

"I…understand." I said, a little taken aback. Why did he say that? "I have some practice in solitary meditation."

"Of course, of course." he said quickly: there was that smile again. "I keep forgetting…Well, most squire candidates choose to reflect on their vows, or to ask the blessing of their gods anyway, so this would not be such a novelty to you." He stood up briskly. "So: are you ready for your vigil, then?"

_They sure did not waste their time, Nevalle and his co-conspirators, whoever they might be…_I thought, although I suspected I was in the same room with two of them.

"I am, Sir Grayson."

"Very well." He patted me on the shoulder. "Let us set out, then. On the next morning, I will welcome you into our brotherhood."

The Glade was not far from Blacklake's outer gate: more of a park than wilderness, it was strewn with tall, straight aspens and poplars in rows and groups. Sir Grayson dictated a healthy pace, and when he stopped under a lonely, huge oak tree, I must confess I was grateful that we have arrived.

"This will be the place of your vigil." Sir Grayson said. In the slowly diminishing evening light I could see that someone obviously have been here to prepare the place for me--there was a small canvas tent, really no more than a tarp, and a nicely laid out fire, complete with a tripod and a pot, just waiting to be lit. "Under Tyr's oak, you shall stay and spend the night." He swept his arm around us. " Every knight and squire of Neverwinter has touched this sacred ground. To Helm, to Tempus, to Torm, and to Tyr have prayers been given."

I took a deep breath, inhaling the scents of the Glade: the air was warm and heady with some power that emanated from the very ground I was standing on.

"This place…" I looked at Grayson, who was watching me intently. "You are right. It is sacred. I can feel it."

"Good." he nodded as if I answered some silent questions, and I saw his shoulders relax under his blue cloak. "Think on that, think on the fellowship you wish to join, perhaps…" he shrugged, "clear your mind and think of nothing. I will return in the morning, and you will greet the new day as my squire." He rested a hand on my shoulder. "I am well aware just how unusual this is, Arrighan Pendwyr…and I can only imagine how it might feel for you." I could feel the warmth of his fingers even through my armor. "But believe me, I would not have accepted you if I believed anything those Luskan dogs are saying about you. This all will be sorted out, I am certain."

"I thank you, my lord." I said quietly. "It is…good to know that…"

"But of course!" he exclaimed and smiled that wide, honest smile again. "I take leave now of you and your thoughts…may Tyr's grace be with you. I shall be back by the morrow." There was an awkward pat on my shoulder before he took his leave; I stared after him for a while--from the way he moved, I knew he did not only wore the armor and the sword just for show. I was not sure what to make of this knight whom I was supposed to serve--he was decidedly odd, yet strangely endearing.

Determined to learn more about him at the first available opportunity, I turned around to survey what I was left with to spend the night.

My suspicions about who prepared this place for my arrival turned to certainty when I discovered a couple of things under the canvas of the tent. A couple of slices of bread with cold roasted mutton, wrapped in a checkered dishcloth suspiciously like the ones Duncan carried around; a small flask of liquor, strongly smelling of berries, bearing the sign of an anvil I recognized as the very one Khelgar carried with him all the time; a slice of sweet honey cake that I knew was Grobnar's favorite; a little pouch with a tinder-box I've seen enough times in Neeshka's hands when she made fire at camp; a pouch of Elanee's minty herb mixture and a small earthenware mug; two wrinkled apples like the ones Qara tried to give us back at the Flagon; and on top of it all, my copy of the Path of Silver Fire wrapped in a warm blanket that smelled of Tyr's incense.

I smiled all the way while I made the fire, heated water, prepared my tea and had my dinner. I even roasted the apples over the coals. I did not remove any of my armor: I remembered all too keenly that discussion with Sand about the possibility of something happening tonight. Instead, I sat down, cross-legged to finish my evening devotions, with my sword laid alongside, and the blanket over my shoulders. The air was heavy with the scent of fire, moist earth and roasted apples. There was almost no wind, and everything was so quiet I could hear my own breath and the small creaking sounds my armor made all the while I was praying.

I suspected this was not entirely natural. While silence was a prerequisite for meditation, for some it might have served as a distraction. Most of the prospective squires spending their nights here seldom could have experienced such quiet in their lives, and as such, this also might have been a kind of a test. Can you stand silence?

For me, it was very soothing. At home, in West Harbor, all I had to do if I wanted to escape the village noises was to walk out behind Daeghun's house between the moor junipers and find the little footpath that lead further back to the Mere. On the road to Neverwinter we had some relatively peaceful nights with my ever growing band of companions, but since I arrived to the city, the only time I really knew this kind of quiet was when in the Temple on a solitary vigil.

Thus, when I heard the hesitant, crunching footsteps to my right amongst a cluster of aspen trees, I was ready. I had the sword in my hand and was standing by the time I recognized the vague throat-clearing that preceded the nervous whisper:

"Arrighan? Are you here? I can barely see anything out here."

"It supposed to be that way, you know." I lowered my weapon and sat back down. "Not to sound rude or anything, but what are you doing here, Shandra?"

She came closer: a pale shadow between the trees. As she got to the circle of the light cast by the firelight, I could see she was wearing her new armor.

"Look, the way trouble follows you, there's no way I'd let you come out here alone." She had a determined look on her face. "So I slipped away from the band as soon as I could after we set this thing up for you and headed back to town." She grinned. "I think Casavir knew what I was doing but…" She shrugged. "Since he could not do it, what with being so…um, straight-laced about rules and such…?"

"I'm meant to stand this vigil alone. It's tradition." I tried to keep a straight face but I must admit I was smiling rather broadly. Shandra Jerro, wanting to protect me. The world was full of surprises, after all." And I would not want you to get in trouble if you stayed, either. Casavir is occasionally right, you know."

"Wow." she said, looking at me like she really has seen me the first time. "You really believe this stuff, don't you? Maybe I was wrong about knights."

"Thanks, Shandra…I think." I said, a bit uncertain. " And I really appreciate the concern, but wouldn't want you to get into trouble if you stayed. "

She grinned even broader and seated herself on the log next to the fire.

"Well, I know you're concerned about me, but if I left, I'd only end up being attacked by githyanki or demons, so I think right here by you is probably the safest place on Faerûn for me. Plus, I wanted to see if any of the Gods would want to inflict further punishment on you." "

I laughed: during our brief time together I already stated to realize that she'd had a rather good sense of dry humor, if she let herself relax.

"All right, I guess you have a point." I pulled the blanket back to my shoulders, and picked up my book. "In that case, I'll let you do whatever you think you can spend this night with, and I'll get back to what I was doing when you showed up." I winked. "Just don't get any illusions: I was trying to figure out a couple of techniques here in case _my _instructor decides I need some humiliation as a squire."

"Whatever." she shrugged. "I'll probably just end up on the ground eating dirt again anyway, when you try to show me the simplest of those moves. You are getting rather scary, you know."

"Yeah, you are just saying that so I go easy on you." I sniffed. "Pity no one does that favor for me, and…"

She cut in, tensely.

"Hold on, did you just hear something?" I saw her gripping her shortsword and that made me instinctively drop my book and unsheathe my weapon.

There were three of them, two built like smaller barns back home. As far as I could make out in the dark, only their leader had tattoos all over his face.

I stood up slowly as they neared me from behind the copse of junipers, and have summoned my inner light with a quick hand gesture to illuminate me from above my head.

"Who are you, and why are you bothering me?" I asked in my best commanding voice. I was warned that this might happen, and now that is did, I had to admit that I was looking forward to it to break the long hours of the night. I might have even smiled.

"I didn't expect the _girl _to be here. " the tattooed-faced assassin said with a snort. " Well, we'll just have to spare her the grief of crying over your corpse and kill her as well."

"I'm right here, you know. Why don't you try? " Shandra tossed her shoulder-length blonde hair and changed her grip on her weapon. Not good. She was nervous.

"You still hasn't answered me, dog of Luskan." I let contempt showing in my voice; I hoped at least one or possible both of the brute types will lose their heads and do something stupid. "Why are you disturbing my vigil?"

"Cute." the leader grinned. "But no dice…We're the ones who've been sent to kill you, "squire." And you can't goad my men that easy. " _Damn_. "Try not to die _too _quietly." he added before they charged.

They did give us a fair fight, I had to own. If it hadn't been for Shandra, I would have had a much more difficult time: this way, before I even had a chance to fully realize what was going on, the fight was over.

"Solace Glade, huh? Talk about a poor name choice. " Shandra frowned, as she wiped her blade off. "Those men came out of nowhere... don't you ever spend one night in peace?"

"Hah. It's rare, trust me." Despite the bruises I knew I had under my armor, I grinned. I leaned over the leader and Shandra did the same from the other side. "Tattoos…" I murmured.

"Weren't you looking for someone who had a tattooed face?" she asked curiously.

"My life seems to be full of them lately. " She was right: there was the tattoo-faced warlock I met in the githyanki caves…and that brief, tantalizing glimpse of Lorne Starling, so familiar even with all the changes of his attire. I grimaced. "I need to teach you better blade alignment: that cut thoroughly messed up his face."

"Sorry, I was too busy trying to prevent him from gutting you with his scythe, boss." She stuck out her tongue at me. " Well, whoever these guys were, they don't look like thieves. And they were definitely hunting for us." She lifted the dead man's hand and pulled something off. "Hey, the leader here... he's got a ring on his finger. It's a circle, with teeth... or spikes."

"Or daggers?" I peeked at it in her upturned palm. I seemed to recall from a discussion or another with Brelaina and Cormick regarding the _Sea Ghost_ the name of a Luskan assassin guild. "Circle of Blades…?" I murmured, staring at the ring.

"Could be…" Shandra shrugged. "It is hard to tell with all the blood." She absentmindedly wiped it with her other hand, then handed it to me. "Here, you take it. I don't particularly want to hold onto it."

"I understand that." I slipped the ring into my belt pouch.

"So: what do we do with the bodies?" Shandra looked at me with slightly worried face. "I mean: when your knight returns and sees that…"

"I'll deal with that, don't worry. Until then, I think we can just get them out of the way. "I indicated the copse of juniper where I first spied them. "If you won't mind helping out…?"

"Sure thing; you know the old saying, right? 'Friends help friends move, real friends help move the bodies' " She giggled, and the absurdity of the situation hit me at full force then. Here we were, two women in armor, in the middle of the night, with bloody blades and bloody dead men around us, trying to cling to normal conversation as much as we were able to.

"Um, Arrighan…" she started as we finished neatly stacking the bodies amongst the junipers, returned to the fire, and washed our hands from the waterskin.

"Yes, Shandra?" I looked up from the page I was studying. It was really rather hopeless, to try to understand this without Casavir's patient guidance and prodding, but I was determined. After all, according to him, once I was actually performing an entire sequence from this book flawlessly, even though I've never seen it before. Should be a piece of cake. "What is it?"

She studied my face for a brief second, then shook her head.

"Never mind. I am just…"

"Come on, lady." I said, mock exasperated and closed my book. "You start out like that, then say nothing, while I am desperately trying to make sense of this page, I'll be extra ugly to you during training. Out with it, or forever keep your peace."

"How are you doing it?" she asked, with an intent expression on her face that sobered my mood almost instantly. "Seriously: all of this?" Her vague hand gesture indicated either the Solace Glade, the corpses amongst the juniper, the city of Neverwinter as a whole, or something else entirely. "You are being chased by assassins and githyanki, warlocks and demons, there are silver…things in you…"

"Shards." I interjected. "And only one."

"Right…a silver shard. As if that makes it better…" She swept her hair out of her face, and continued: "_And _now you are accused by Luskan with murder of an entire village…" She shuddered. "I used to do runs through Ember, you know, with hay…I even stayed at my friend Alaine's house once or twice. To think that they are dead, now… "

She looked awfully young and vulnerable now. I reached across and squeezed her hand. The air felt chilly: there was a faint line of light on the horizon visible through the trees. Dawn would be here soon.

"I am sorry." I said quietly. "I don't see into the past or future: that gift is not Tyr's to give. But I can promise you one thing, Shandra…I will find out who was behind this. Not just because they try to blame it on me. Because those people have no one else to speak for them."


	13. Everyone's Waiting For Your Entrance

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**Disclaimers:**

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections.**

**There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things.**

**For this chapter the following songs were playing lending inspiration: _Rory Dall's Love Tune_ from Alan Stivell's amazing _70/95-Zoom _album; _Banquet Hall _from Loreena McKennitt's _To Drive The Cold Winter Away_; and _Black and White_ from Sarah McLachlan's _Surfacing_. I hope this will make sense to at least some…**

**Finally, and regretfully, I do not own any of the main characters… Arrighan is entirely my fault, though…J**

**Chapter Thirteen**

I kind of expected to return to the Flagon before being presented at court…but that just shows how completely and utterly clueless I was about how to handle such matters.

"But of course! I insist!" I suspected that when one's knight insist on allowing a squire to clean up at his own house before a court audience, one should not object much. "Nonsense about trudging through two districts…we don't have much time, especially after this attack." Sir Grayson shook his head firmly. "I'll need to send someone to have those bodies taken care of anyway…and no offense, Squire, but something needs to be done about your appearance."

_Tell me all about it…_I wanted to say but I caught myself just in time.

"I thank you for your kindness. " I said instead, as I trudged slightly behind him. It was so early there was barely anyone on the streets of Blacklake; I caught sight of a patrol disappearing around a corner, and of course, there were the occasional servants running morning errands or whatever it is servants do. My plate boots made loud _clicky-click _sounds on the even pavement. I started to be uncomfortably aware of the fact that I was a bit, perhaps, over-armored for this particular side of town. Even counting Sir Grayson.

His house was not too large: by Blacklake standards, of course. Daeghun's house where I grew up would have been good perhaps for its servants' quarters. Or stables.

"I keep it as a secondary residence only, so there is not much staff." Grayson explained as he rapped the door using the knocker. "But we should be able to find you some hot water and whatever else you need."

That 'whatever else' turned out to be a middle-aged housekeeper who as soon as she materialized at the door, took a look at me, clucked her teeth and frowned at Sir Grayson.

"What in the world did you do to this poor girl, milord? I thought she was going to the Solace Glade, not into battle? Does not bode well for starting out as your squire, no, not at all." Before I had a chance to remark on how well-informed Grayson's house staff was about me, she took me by the arm, firmly. " Let's go, darling. I am assuming your lordship will wait in the drawing room. Bornell set out some cordial and the latest dispatches your niece sent."

Sir Grayson shot a somewhat sheepish look at me.

"I shall leave you in Mrs. Bornell's good care, then, Squire. When you are ready, see me in the drawing room." He indicated a dark door further down the gloomy hallway.

And so I found myself in a small room with some dusty oak furniture, a large washbasin with scalding hot water, some incredibly soft towels, and a tray with more soaps and scents that I've ever seen in my life.

"There you go, love." said Mrs. Bornell. "Just pull that cord there if you need anything--I'll be in the kitchen preparing some breakfast." She shook her head. "You probably need that armor scrubbed a bit, don't you, darling? I suppose I could ask Bornell…"

"Thanks, but that won't be necessary." I smiled. "I can handle _that _task rather well, I think."

"Oh, of course, love, of course." she said using the tone of voice I last heard from Retta when I assured her I could handle peeling the potatoes for the stew just fine. "Wouldn't want to imply nothing. Well, in that case you better do that first…armor polish and such are in that trunk over there." She pointed at a small trunk by the door. "I'll leave you to it…no rush, whatever m'lord told you. They don't rise that early up in Castle Never…" she added with a sniff before she closed the door behind her.

So there I was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the room, with some soft rags and armor polish, getting even dirtier than I was, working furiously so the water does not get too cold.

Just as I was about to get done, there was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Bornell entered, with another woman carrying more hot water. Bless her heart. I smiled at them so wide I felt my face would split.

"How did you know…?" I asked.

"I was not a housekeeper for the Lord Corett and his father for twenty years for nothing, love." She looked at my armor pieces all laid out on the floor and sniffed. "That is nice work, dear…but now it's time to fix you up for the court." She pointed at my jerkin, tunic and trousers. "Those won't do any more…I have something here that would please even the best of Neverwinter." She indicated a neatly folded stack of clothing on the other, younger woman's arm that she gingerly placed on a side table that looked like it would collapse if I breathed on it. "We'll take care of yours and send it back to your lodgings, never fear." She looked at me and smiled. "Well, get started, love…don't keep everyone waiting. Your companions should arrive soon…"

"Um…really?" I started on the clasps of my jerkin; I recognized the tone of her voice as one that must be obeyed.

"M'lord Corett sent the boy to them. "Another sniff. "Hopefully the ones that will escort you know how to dress for an audience…" With that, she marched out, the younger woman in her wake, casting a terrified glance at me.

I decided I liked everyone in this house, despite the way too delicate furniture. The shirt of the outfit they left for me had the most beautiful lace cuffs and collar with some gold threads worked through it. It was made out of linen so fine I could not see the weave, and dyed in deep blue. It even made me forgive the scented soap and water: I think it was violets and rose. The silver-backed hairbrush was nice, though. As I pulled it through my wet hair, I caught sight of myself in a slightly faded large mirror hung on the wall over the washstand, and I was startled to see just how different I looked in those clothes. The contrast between the dark of the tunic and the white of the lace emphasized my pale skin and the gold thread of the embroidery accentuated my hair. I think I looked much younger and at the same time more distant, almost dignified…until I twisted my hair up in a knot and put the soft leather jerkin and my polished armor on. Then I was just another of those armored figures one sees in any large city of the Sword Coast, I suppose--except the eyes. But that could not be helped, so I ceased fretting over it, clasped my weapon belt on, got my helmet under my arm and left the room with a last wistful stroke across the scrollwork pattern of the mirror's frame.

The drawing room was what we in West Harbor would have called the parlor (those who had such a room, that is), but on a much, much grander scale. It was surprisingly airy, especially after the dark and gloomy corridor, with windows letting the morning light in through billowing curtains. It was strewn with rich-colored rugs, some of those high-backed chairs you can only sit ramrod-straight, and two overstuffed sofas. A fireplace decorated the far wall, with a pure white marble mantelpiece that featured a hunt scene with tiny dogs, foxes and men with those dainty caps I suspected men wear for courtly hunts; no one else would be caught wearing them, I was sure of it. Everything looked old and slightly worn, but from usage, not lack of care. There was a comfortable feeling in the air I instantly associated with the owner of the house.

"Well, there you are, Squire!" Beaming, that was the right word for what Sir Grayson did almost continuously. "And just in time too. If you care to break your fast with us…"

I looked around: there were two more people in the room, obviously just finishing with their food. One I was very glad to see; the other I was not so sure about.

"I hear you had a most entertaining night, dear girl." drawled Sand. "I am glad to see it did not leave any permanent marks on you. " He perched on the arm of one of the sofas for all the world like he was born and raised in one of these houses. Shandra, on the other hand, chose one of the chairs and sat on the very edge of the seat, balancing a cup on a saucer with exaggerated carefulness that spoke volumes about her. I could just see her with her mother, using a probably very similar set of cups and saucers, doing just this, so she can learn some manners of a world that was lost for the family not soon after she was born…

"And I am sure all she needed this morning were your acerbic remarks, Sand." she said with exaggerated care. "Good morning, Arrighan."

"Same to you two." I carefully took a cup and saucer from the narrow serving table by the wall and filled it with steaming hot coffee from a silver carafe; topped it with what I hoped was cream, and took a sip.

M-mmm. I could get used to this squiring if such were the rewards. That was just the way I liked it: dark, strong but not too bitter; and you could practically taste the fat in the cream.

"All is well." Shandra announced to the room." No bloodshed for today: she likes the coffee."

"I will let Mrs. Bornell know…" My knight seemed amused. "Do try the pastries as well, Squire, they are fresh."

"I would not keep anyone waiting…" I said, looking around. "Although those do look rather appetizing."

"Let's just take a few for the road, then. Otherwise Mrs. Bornell will surely kill me." I was not sure I hear that right, but Sir Grayson stood up, took his cloak from the sofa he was sitting on, and grabbed a couple of the little pastry horns from a silver platter that matched the coffee set. "So: if everyone's ready?"

There was that long trudge again, this time up the hill to the castle, across the gate where the Watch actually saluted us, causing Shandra to blush. My knight handed me two of those pastries: they were still warm, flaky and almost dripping with butter. I tried not to just wolf them down in one bite. Yes, being a squire to Sir Grayson Corett had its advantages already.

We continued through the Academy Square, Sir Grayson nodding here and there occasionally at some blue-robed wizards or early riser nobles. The latter became more frequent as we got closer to the castle; there were some houses here that dwarfed in size everything else I've seen so far, even in Blacklake.

"So: why just you two?" I asked Shandra. "I sort of expected the entire merry band to show up…"

"Now that would have been something…" She chuckled. "I can just see your knight in the same room with Bishop…and Neeshka would have tossed the entire breakfast table in less time than it takes you to say a prayer. That silver was quite something, wasn't it? No, we talked it over and decided it was best if Sand as your…um, I guess, representative-at-court, and me as the…well, I am kind of your squire, or apprentice or whatever…so if the two of us stood by you when you are presented to Lord Nasher." She winked at me. "I am always open to logical arguments, and I have to admit that Sir Casavir can be rather devastating when it comes to that. You should have seen Khelgar's face after ten minutes of paladin talk."

"Oh." I have to admit I had a rather silly grin on my face. "So when you say 'talked it over' what you really meant was that he just kept hammering his arguments until everyone gave up and agreed?" She nodded, rather smugly. "What, you mean us Tyr's servants have an unfair advantage when it comes to…"

"She means Tyr's paladins can argue almost as well as I can, given time spent with some good tutors." inserted Sand smoothly. "And that boy obviously was raised well."

I really tried hard to like Sand: after all, he was supposed to aid me during this whole ordeal. It was just the way he tried to assert his obvious superiority over everyone else that grated on my nerves almost as badly as Bishop's arrogance. I shot an exasperated look at him, and remained silent for the rest of our walk.

Finally we got to the gates: grey stone, the obligatory gargoyles crouching above our heads, portcullis drawn, guard posts on two sides with two decidedly non-sleepy soldiers standing at rigid attention. They wore blackened armor that was etched and chased with gold motifs, and a no-nonsense expression on their face that made me pull my shoulders back and pay more attention to my surroundings.

"Lord Nasher's private guard." whispered Sand by my ear. "You'll see them inside plenty more."

Sir Grayson marched up to one of them and announced:

"Sir Grayson Corett, on Lord Nasher's business with his squire Arrighan Pendwyr, the wizard Sand and Mistress Shandra Jerro."

"Lord Corett…" The guard nodded. "You are known to us; do you vouch for those with you?"

"I do." Grayson waved at us. "Follow me." The guards raised their impressive halberds, allowing us to pass between them.

"Well, that was quick." said Shandra quietly as we walked under the arches of the entryway. "I wonder how much longer it would've taken us had he not been with us…"

"Probably forever." Sand said, shrugging. Our steps echoed on the bare stone--it was a long and bare corridor, with small slits above our head. I craned my neck to see them better.

"That would be for the hot pitch, I assume." I murmured under my breath; but Sir Grayson has heard me.

"Oh yes." he said, turning to me. "For that and for arrows, just in case someone tried to attack the traditional way." He pointed at the walls. "There are also magical defenses here; any hostile magic released at this point will trigger the old defenses of the castle, built in by Lord Never, the founder and his nine companions." His voice grew soft. "Talven, Galavren, Floashabel, Thracier, Shoce, Coneth, N'halien, Tamper and Slade. Some of them elves, some of them humans, bonded in battles, prevailing against all odds. Into the rock where the castle now stands, Lord Halueth Never planted his sword, and called for a stand against the hordes of orcs, goblins and barbarians of the North pursuing them."

"I have a lot to learn, Sir Grayson." I said; I had never heard the foundation story of the city before. The fact that it came from Elves and humans standing together facing their enemies moved me. A fleeting though fluttered through my mind: I wondered which one of those, if any, was ancestor to Casavir.

He smiled:  
"All squires have, Arrighan. But you'll have to receive, I daresay, a somewhat accelerated education."

Before I could have asked him to elaborate on that, we emerged at an open courtyard at the end of the corridor. Formally trimmed bushes and flowerbeds surrounded an ornately carved red marble fountain, flanked by further guards. Three more stood in front of a large oak and steel door on the other side of the courtyard. We headed straight towards them.

"Ah. That would be the entrance to the Great Hall and Nasher's throne room." Sand said, flicking off invisible lint from his sleeve. "Let me see you, girl." he commanded Shandra, who stopped. Both Sir Grayson and I watched incredulously as Sand pulled out a hairbrush from the depths of his wizard's robes and handed it to my friend. " Do something with the hair, if you would." he said. His next move was to produce a twin of those linen handkerchiefs Elanee always carried and gently rub off a smudge from the corner of Shandra's mouth.

"Coffee." he said reproachfully. His eyes found me, just as I absentmindedly touched my face, and he hissed. "Don't try it with plate gloves, dear." He tossed another of those pieces of cloth towards me. I made a mental note to ask Elanee if these were the products of some elven special ability: Summon Handkerchief, perhaps? It would explain how they could always stay so clean…

My bizarre thoughts were obviously the products of my nerves. After all, barely a year ago my biggest concern in life was where to get good price for the furs Daeghun brought back from his hunting trip or on bulk orders for swords since Aevan and I kept destroying my practice blades every time we sparred…and now I was about to face the ruler of Neverwinter as a squire of his court. Rather dizzying, come to think.

I watched as Sir Grayson announced us to the guards and they regarded us with their steely gaze. These, if possible, were even more stone-faced than the ones at the outside. The fact that they let us through did not mean they softened up, either. I felt their eyes on me all the way through, and a little bit even after the gate was closed behind us.

Another long corridor stretched before us: this was paved with colored tiles, the walls hanged with tapestries and rugs. And there were people too: people in brightly colored silks, damasked velvets and brocades, people who came and went, people who hurried or just stood in smaller groups, in conversation that inevitably ceased as we passed them by. Their eyes followed us for quite a distance, with a whole array of emotions that swirled and coalesced in the air until I could almost touch them: disdain, amusement, pity, interest, scorn, and above all, curiosity.

"Ah." Sand leaned to my ear. "Do you feel them too, scheming, whispering, wondering, those nobles of the court? "I nodded. "Good. Keep that awareness up and you might just make it here. Before you ask, yes, they are definitely wondering about you and no, you don't have to pay attention to them." He made a complicated but graceful hand gesture. "Yet, that is."

Before I could have asked him what was going on, we neared the end of the corridor, and stopped in front of an even fancier set of doors where yet another black-armored pair of guards regarded us with impassive stare, then one of them leaned closer to Sir Grayson and told him something in a low voice.

"The Lord Nasher will see us." announced my knight turning to us. "However, he sent word to escort us to his lesser receiving room. " One of the guards stepped out and indicated that we should follow him.

"What does that mean?" I asked, perhaps naively. I was sure it meant something. "A less formal reception perhaps?" I looked at those intimidating tall doors that we will not cross after all, and I had to admit, I felt a bit relieved.

Until we were ushered in to this room, that, although to my eyes it was a huge hall, must have been the 'lesser receiving room' and I came face to face with the people waiting for us there. _Then _I felt my stomach knit into a shivering little bundle the size of my pinkie.

"Ah, Sir Grayson…a pleasure to see you." The owner of that pleasantly deep voice was seated on a slightly raised dais. On his gloved hand he was holding a hunting hawk, carefully balancing it, and gently stroking its hooded head with a finger. Presently he extended his arm, and the green-clad man on his left took the bird from him with great care, bowed and left the room through a side door.

"It is my honor to serve, my lord." answered Sir Grayson and executed the most perfect courtly bow I've ever seen done in plate mail. I felt a slight tug on my cloak from behind me where Sand stood, so I followed suit, strongly hoping I was not making a fool of myself.

So, this was the Lord Nasher himself, then. I tried not to stare, I was always taught that was rude.

"But what brings you here?" Lord Nasher continued, with a smile on his lips that curiously actually reached his eyes so that the little wrinkles around it got even more pronounced. "You look troubled." That pronouncement was somehow at odds with his facial expression: I blinked.

Sir Grayson straightened, and his voice took up the tones of formal cadences almost as serious as Aevan ever taught me.

"My lord, a grave matter indeed." I watched the smile disappear from Lord Nasher's face as if erased from it. His lips pursed together, eyes narrowed, the Lord of Neverwinter leaned forward on his chair, reminding me of the bird of prey he just a minute ago held on his hand. "It has come to my attention that this woman stands accused of murder, and is to be given over to Luskan for trial." My knight's gesture all of a sudden has drawn me into the conversation: I pulled my shoulders back and lifted my head.

"What you have heard is true, Sir Grayson." Lord Nasher nodded, his eyes on me, but still not quite meeting my gaze. "Is that why you are here?"

"I am here because this woman is my squire, and must be tried by your hand and the will of the Gods alone." His words echoed in the hall, and inside my heart.

" What is this nonsense?" I heard then from my right, and the slender form of the most extravagantly dressed woman I've ever seen moved up to stand next to my knight, facing Lord Nasher. "This knight has no squire!"

She was rather small, with the exquisite, almost doll-like features of a court lady, but there was something disturbingly cold and reptile-like in the way she moved I did not care for at all. As I allowed myself a quick glance with my other Sight, I had to recoil and fight the dizziness that for a brief second threatened me with nausea. The woman was surrounded with seething, black and bile-green tentacles of darkness in that other realm, despite the ermine-lined cape and multicolored silk gown she wore in real life.

Lord Nasher leaned even further forward, so much so that I could see the sunlight from the tall windows reflecting not only on his gold crown but on his bald pate as well.

"I would choose your words carefully, Ambassador Claven, lest I think you were accusing one of my knights of speaking lies."

He called her 'ambassador'. I recalled that conversation with Sir Nevalle at the Flagon: he said the Luskan ambassador has personally made the accusations against me. This must be Torio Claven, then; and if so, the game was definitely on.

_Better concentrate Arrighan, on every small gesture, every movement, every word…your life might depend on it. Just treat it as if this was a battle, and you'll be fine._

I did not particularly rejoice every time my detached, calm and heavenly self started to gain the upper hand, but I must admit, right then I welcomed its help very much.

"I only hear the words of a man shielding a murderer." Torio Claven said with cold anger in her voice, meeting Lord Nasher's gaze squarely, her chin lifted.

"Then let the accused speak." he said, and for the first time, he really looked at me. " What say you--does my knight speak truly? Are you his squire?"

As clear green eyes regarded me from under heavy brows, I stepped forward and bent one knee, fervently hoping I did not step on my own cloak while doing so.  
"My lord, I am Arrighan Pendwyr, Sir Grayson Corett's squire--and I swear to serve Neverwinter faithfully and well."

"Then it is true." Lord Nasher nodded: he transferred his gaze to Torio again and there was the slightest hint of triumph in his voice as he continued. "And that means that this squire will be tried here, Ambassador, _not _within Luskan's walls." I had to admit, not even Sand pronounced that city's name with such contempt.

"There is no justice in this." Torio Claven clearly was taken off her guard; she almost hissed those words, her carefully schooled features contorting into an enraged demon-mask for a brief second. "But again, I was a fool to expect justice in Neverwinter."

With that, she sashayed out of the room, barely bowing before doing so, clearly breaking just about every rule of etiquette I could imagine (and I was sure there were a lot that I was not aware of). I searched for some signs of outrage on Lord Nasher's face, but all I noticed was a slight wrinkling of his forehead. There was that smile again, too, now reaching all the way to the depths of his eyes, making the dozens of little wrinkles dance like so many crow's feet.

"Seeing that gloating smile stripped from her face pleases me more than you will know, Arrighan Pendwyr." He nodded at Grayson. "I applaud your choice for squire, Sir." He waved a glowed hand at me. 'You may rise now. I would not have a servant of our god Tyr kneel at my feet."

I unselfconsciously touched Tyr's symbol hanging from my neck before rising.

"As my lord commands." I answered, hoping I will be able to thank Casavir for the rudimentary etiquette lessons he started with me parallel to studying the Path of Silver Fire. "And I thank you for your kindness."

"Kindness has nothing to do with it." he said slowly, and my head whipped up almost by its own accord as his voice hardened. "You _will _understand that this matter of Ember is of utmost importance for our realm, and that by accusing a paladin of Tyr with such a crime Luskan finally went too far." His gloved fist slammed on to the arm of his throne. "I _will _see justice done and the true murderers brought to the end they deserve. This is a mockery of the god and by that I will not abide! Do you understand me?" There was thunder in his voice; with echoes of another thunder I've heard more and more often in my dreams, and those green eyes held silver lightning.

It was as if no one else was in the room for a couple of heartbeats. I held his gaze, firm and unwavering, and felt my own silver-and-crimson power waking, resonating answer to this ruler of the city I swore allegiance to. I heard somewhere when I first came to the city that he was a stalwart champion of Tyr, from way back his adventuring days--but I did not quite comprehend it fully until now. This whole allegation offended him in a way the stench of the devils and demons in the gith caves bothered me, an intense and physical repulsion against injustice and the suffering of innocent. I was sure he did not have an easy time as a ruler of a city where every day he had to make decisions that called those deep convictions into question. I could see the conflict between righteous indignation and shrewd political considerations tearing at him as clear as I could see the seething tentacles of evil clutching Torio Claven's heart.

In that moment, I understood all too clearly the price of power this man had to pay in order to keep Neverwinter together despite of plague, civil war and devastation, threats from Luskan, orc tribes and internal enemies, for decades…and all of a sudden the phrase 'sacrifice for the greater good of his people' settled into my mind next to his face, heavy and final like a sentence.

"I do." I found my voice at last. "I do understand very well, my lord."

My cold fingers found my holy symbol again, and held it tight: I felt my lips move in a sudden prayer for that man on the throne--and for my own self, so that I never had to make those decisions he had to on a daily basis.

I was not sure I was strong enough to pay the price.


	14. A Book I'm Afraid To Write

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**Disclaimers:**

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections.**

**There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things. In case anyone was wondering, that's why this was rated M-- so far.**

**This is going to be a longer one; my apologies. Had to have some relationship development here…J**

**For this chapter the following songs were playing lending inspiration: _Strength and Honor_-from Hans Zimmer's _Gladiator _soundtrack; _Ferny Hill_ from The Chieftains' _The Long Black Veil_; and _Book Of My Life _from Sting's _Sacred Love_.**

**I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… Arrighan is entirely my fault, though…J**

**Chapter Fourteen**

Getting back to the Flagon from Castle Never made me feel like I was moving in sticky, warm molasses. Everything seemed blurred and vague. My mind kept returning to certain memories, like a smith's hammer hitting the same places when working on a blade. The attack in Solace Glade; the ring with the strange emblem on it; Shandra's hurried final words before we parted at dawn so my knight won't see her; the warmth of the morning sun on my face as I lifted my voice in prayer to Tyr sitting under His oak tree in the Glade; Sir Grayson's slightly shocked face at my recounting the night's events; the sound of the red marble fountain's cascading water in Castle Never's reception court; the silver lightning in Lord Nasher's green eyes; the repressed anger that stiffened the wide shoulders under the cloak of gold-shot silk…

Then there was that 'hastily thrown together' lunch Sir Nevalle insisted on, after we were ushered out of the receiving room. Sir Grayson stayed with Nasher, so it was just me, Shandra and Sand in that secluded dining room with Nevalle of the sculpted cheekbones.

Come think of it, the wines served with that lunch might have contributed to this odd feeling in my stomach. I was not accustomed to drinking that early in the day, and certainly not that kind of vintage. The white served with the soup and potage was almost yellow, sweet and heavy on the tongue like honey, and the red that went with the roast meats rolled around in the mouth slowly like something that needed to be chewed and contemplated upon, almost like a weightier sentence of some philosophy book. The pear and apple compote that finished the meal, brought almost as an afterthought, was stewed in the same red wine. After the breakfast at Sir Grayson's and now the lunch in the castle, I started to feel like I had to have a word with Duncan about his kitchen.

"_And I believe the next ship leaves for Port Llast three days hence." Nevalle sipped from his goblet and drummed his fingers of the table for second; then he beckoned one of the servants who hovered discreetly in the background and whispered something. The man nodded and disappeared through a side door. I already learned to appreciate the discreet hovering of the staff in the castle-- this possibly was a special ability they had to learn. "I will arrange for passage for you and your companions…just make sure you are on it." I nodded. "Good. Now, I am sure our esteemed friend Sand here can do a more than capable job in guiding you around and advising on questioning people there and such, but you'll probably need to get a guide to get you through the border and to Ember."_

"_To Ember?" Shandra's eyes were wide. "You mean…where this whole thing took place?"_

"_Of course." Nevalle's face was hard. "Squire Pendwyr needs to gather evidence against the accusations, Miss Jerro, and I am certain there are a lot left around. We still do not have any credible reports about what happened there, except what Ambassador Claven alleged and we need to see it with our own eyes, so to speak." I have learned one more thing about Nevalle during this lunch: he was meticulously precise about using correct styling for everyone._

"_I had…friends there." Shandra whispered. "Alaine and her family…"_

"_Hey." I said gently. "You don't have to come with me if you think…"_

_She looked at me as if I slapped her in the face.  
"No, Arrighan. My place is with you. It's just…" she swallowed and pushed the plate away from her with the rest of her meal, "…It will not be easy."_

"_I don't think it would be, for anyone." Nevalle said with unusual warmth in his voice. I looked up, slightly surprised. "I commend your decision to follow your friend, even if it is the hard thing to do." He looked at me. "Your ability to inspire others to follow you is…remarkable, Squire."_

"_You shame me, Sir Nevalle. " I blushed slightly. Growing up in Daeghun's house I was never accustomed to praise, and this, coming from one of the Nine, was quite unexpected._

"_On the contrary." His grayish-blue eyes sparkled up. "You have gathered a remarkable cadre of…companions, from a wide range of backgrounds and races, even. To keep them by your side without constant conflict in itself should prove that you are much more than it meets the eye."_

"_About that supposed lack of constant conflict, now," murmured Shandra, "…you obviously did not spend enough time with us yet."_

_Sand snorted._

"_And that is the honest truth, however much it pains me to say." He put down his goblet and frowned at the tablecloth. "If we may get back to the matters at hand, Sir Nevalle…is it still Haeromos the garrison commander in Port Llast? He is said to be a fair man, vigilant of his people and the lands around."_

"_Yes, he's the one you should seek out once safely docked." Nevalle nodded. "Do you need a letter for him?"_

"_I don't actually think that would be a good thing." I tapped my chin with a finger, thinking. "We need to be seen as completely independent from you and from Lord Nasher in order to counter any possible arguments from Torio Claven regarding the High Court favoring us." I sighed. "Much as I would appreciate to have the entire weight of Neverwinter behind me, right now I think Sand's help and that space on the ship to Port Llast are the only things I can accept from you, Sir Nevalle." I smiled at him, to take away the edge of my words. "I hope you understand."_

"_More than you think." Nevalle looked at me for a long moment, than briskly stood up. "Well, in that case, do not let me detain you. Your uncle and your other friends are probably rather anxious to see you as Neverwinter's newest squire."_

Of course they were; they all crowded into that little private room Duncan kept set aside for us. Before my arrival I suspected he let it out for certain shadier organizations' various meetings—when Neeshka walked through and checked for traps the first time, she detected two, protecting an entirely normal-looking floorboard in the back right corner. Under it, we found some gems and cash; I asked Duncan and he refused to tell me anything about it, except that it was not his and he had no idea how they got there. I was firm about holding onto the stash for a while. Finally, though, I had to bow to both Neeshka's and Khelgar's very convincing arguments that this was probably money belonging to someone we got rid of through our rather successful campaign against the Shadow Thieves.

But that was quite a while ago; now there was a long trestle table in the middle, some canvas bags with old armor and assorted weapons by the back wall, bundles of Elanee's herbs hanging from the rafter; and an old woodstove in the corner that we used every now and then to warm water for tea, make coffee or hot cider when we stayed up late preparing for a trip or planning something. Just like now.

"And that's the long and the short of it." I looked around as I finished recounting the events of the past day and a half. "I have passage booked on the _Halueth's Pride_ sailing three days from now to Port Llast. None of you were accused being my accomplices in this crime, so you don't share any of the responsibility of proving my innocence. Now, let me make this clear." I lifted a palm to stifle the predictable outburst as Khelgar started to rise from his chair. "I do not own your allegiance or fealty in any way, shape of form, and I never demanded such. I was always honored to be able to share the road with you and to stand by you in many fights. But I cannot ask any of you to come with me on this journey: except for Sand, who would be my counsel until this ordeal is over, and Shandra, who already pledged herself to journey with me."

I could clearly hear the increasingly loud mumble from Khelgar: '…bloody paladins with their honor codes and getting everything done by the fucking book…' which was answered by a sharp tiefling elbow in his side. That resulted, unfortunately, in a classic Khelgar-bellow, and him jumping up from his chair: all four feet of concentrated anger, red beard and potent smell of ale. There was no restraining him any longer.

"Well, wait just a minute, Little One!" he shouted on the top of his lungs. I winced. "After all these months of getting me fair share of chopping heads and limbs at yer side and teachin' ye the fine arts of fightin' with _real_ weapons, now ye want me to stay here while you wonder alone with only a poncy wizard and a sliver of a girl to keep ye company? I don't think so! By Tyr's right buttock, I'll be fightin' by yer side for whatever is needed to clear yer name, if I need to lose my beard in the process!"

"Ouch." Sand lifted a fine-boned hand to one of his elongated elf-ears with exaggerated care. "Can you please just add the dwarf's name to the list of us unfortunate ones who need to bear the winds of seas and the backwardness of Port Llast with you, child, and move on? I am afraid my ears will not withstand any more shouting."

"Poncy elf." growled Khelgar, in a much lower voice, but still quite audibly. "And don't even try to talk me out of it, lass." he shot it towards me. "If fer nothing else, I'd go just to keep an eye on Master Wizard here so he doesn't turn any tricks."

"Charming." Sand said sourly. "No doubt I'd turn on you the first available opportunity, if only my fear of a perpetually half-drunk dwarf didn't restrain me. I tremble where I stand."

"Thank you, Khelgar." I slightly bowed towards the dwarf, partly to shut Sand up, I confess, but largely because I was really grateful, even if my ears hurt a bit. "It is always an honor to have an Ironfist by my side." That made him sit back, and beam around contentedly. After we met his kin by the mountains at Old Owl Well where they were looking for their ancient stronghold, I gained some better measure of him, and knew that Ironfist clan pride and honor was nothing to be made light of. I meant every word I said.

"I followed you this far into the homes of men and through streets of stone." Elanee said quietly from a corner. "It is clear that my path and yours runs side by side, and whatever new Circle I am to make, you are one of its foundations. I am going with you also."

I grinned at her, absurdly relieved. Strange and quiet as she was with her elven ways, Elanee's presence was always soothing and her advice always sound. Her magic helped me in more ways that I could count: I still remembered the first time she called down the lightning from the sky against a number of undead at Highcliff castle, or the noiseless way she set fire to an old building as a diversion when we first captured a large weapon shipment from the Shadow Thieves. Her healing potions and spells sustained us long after my own, lesser powers were exhausted.

"Well, I can't exactly speak as eloquently as Elanee, or shout as loud as Mister Roundbelly here…" sniffed Neeshka, "but you'd always done right by me, Rig, and that's something I don't get often. I mean, you know, the horns and tail tend to discourage people from getting attached. And you are a _celestial_ on top of everything…I guess what I am trying to say is that you are…"she hesitated, and then pronounced it as a foreign word, slow and tentative, "a….friend…? Sooo… if you need someone who sneaks around and finds things, I am your tiefling to Port Llast and beyond."

'Wow…can I use that in a song, Neeshka?" Grobnar looked up with large brown eyes from his lute strings. "That was really…poetic." He hummed a few tunes, and then noticed that practically everyone was glaring at him. 'Wha…what…?" he stammered out, bewildered.

"Well, lad, out with it!" Khelgar slapped his palm on the table. "We don't sit here just so you can entertain us, in case you haven't noticed? Our leader here has a little problem with a murder accusation…"

"Oh, yes!" Grobnar said, blinking confusedly like a fuzzy-headed owl. "Yes, of course! I remember now…that's what I wanted to talk about before you started to shout, Master Khelgar…"

"Well, that's for you for confusing a gnome. " Neeshka grinned at Khelgar. "So you coming, Grobnar…?"

"_Please_ tell me we are not dragging a gnome with us as well?" Sand lifted his eyes to the ceiling. "I already will have hard enough time keeping the tiefling from my bags and the dwarf from my wine flask as it is…"

"Hey!" Khelgar and Neeshka said in such unison that I burst out laughing, and the solemnity of the occasion was completely lost, as the group broke up to apply themselves to the cold cuts and the drinks on the table, courtesy of my uncle's larder and my purse.

But that still left two men in the room who did not say anything. I did not expect Bishop to even show up, truth to tell; he was sitting next to the woodstove, far from the others, foot up on a canvas sack, his mangy wolf-thing curled up behind him. He was smoking a pipe, clean-shaven and sober, eyeing me thoughtfully from time to time. I was surprised to see him, so I did the sensible thing. I walked up to him and told him so.

"I am a man full of surprises. "he said, not even bothering to take his pipe out of his mouth. "Want me to show the biggest?"

"Only if you want to be crippled, ranger. "I said, with a sigh. I pulled up a chair that Elanee vacated, and sat down next to him. I am not sure why I even bothered, except the fact that he was there made me curious. "So how come you're here? Want to see me off or something?"

"Ah, holy girl…I'll miss you if those Luskans kill you, I'll really do. "he sighed, but his eyes remained just as cold and dead as they always were. "You are such a tantalizing mixture of the utterly naïve, the all-knowing, and the streetwise, it would be almost a crime not to preserve you, like a precious flower." He eased back into his chair, and sniffed. "As it were, I am somewhat curious about how this little adventure plays out. But to go with you…"He shook his head. "As tempting as the possibility of cutting some Luskan throat is, I must decline this time. Like you said, it was only you who got accused by this crime, so why should I risk my head on the other side of the border? Unless you intend to pay me handsomely for my services to conduct you around the border, like you did when we chased your farmer friend there, of course." He jabbed his thumb over where Shandra was carrying out an animated conversation with Grobnar, her blonde hair flying, "This is way above my head, holy girl, and way above anyone else's in this room, however loudly they protest their undying loyalty to you. Except, maybe, your paladin over there." he added with a wink.

"Bishop, for the hundredth time, he is not my paladin. He's Tyr's, just as I am. "I said, resigned. What he said was, of course, completely understandable, when you looked it from such a person's point of view as he. But still… the cold and calculating aspect of his personality, the one that made his eyes so dead, still made me want to kick him hard, with full force and plate boots. "At least, you are honest about it. "I said, after a brief silence. "I need to respect that; thank you."

"You really mean that. "he said, eyeing me intensely. "You really, really do…" He snorted. "No wonder that Torio woman is out to get you: this much goodness in the world would seriously disrupt her plans, and her master's…"

"Her master's?" I asked quickly. "What do you mean?"

His face has darkened and he got up so abruptly he almost kicked his wolf. Karnwyr gave a surprised little yelp and literally jumped in the air, landing back on his four paws a slit second later.

"Ask your pet wizard, holy girl." He snarled just like a wolf. 'I have no time for your stupid games of saving the world." And with that, he stomped out of the room, Karnwyr in tow.

"I wonder what it was this time around." I sighed loud. That felt like spooking a half-tamed wild animal. But there was nothing to be done about it; he declared his intentions loud and clear. Including a rather interesting slip of a tongue—so I made a mental note to talk to Sand as soon as possible about the Luskan ambassador.

"That was impressive, my lady." Casavir, yet again, showed up without me noticing him—once out of his armor, he really could move quietly. He sat down to Bishop's vacated chair and looked at me thoughtfully. "It barely took you time to chase him away, and I noticed no blood…you ought to teach me that."

"I don't think it was anything I…wait a minute." I looked at him while realization slowly dawned on me. "That was…surely you were _not_ jesting, Sir Knight?" I was waiting for the sky to fall.

There was a barely perceptible shrug.

"Everyone knows I am incapable of that, Squire." His blue eyes were clear and calm. "Almost as much as our friend Bishop is to actually be honest about something. "

"I am afraid you are right. About him, I mean." I added, after a pause. "Oh, look, coffee!" I noticed the carafe and some earthenware mugs warming on the corner of the stove and I was grateful for the momentary diversion. "Want some?"

He nodded, so I poured two cups and we sipped for a while in silence. Duncan's coffee was so strong it demanded that, and after sitting a while at the corner of the stove it acquired some interesting aftertaste as well. I waited until my heartbeat slowed down to relatively normal before nodding appreciatively and resuming discussion. I saw from the corner of my eye that Casavir still had most of his cup, too.

"So: I understand from Shandra that I owe you thanks. Again." I said.

He raised an eyebrow.

"And why would that be, my lady?"

"Well…the way she described it, you did not exactly try to stop her from sneaking back to the Solace Glade last night. It was…fortunate."

"I would _never _dream about encouraging someone to disturb a Vigil, my lady." he said seriously. "However…" he added, just as I began to get confused, "our friend Shandra _is_ known for making rash and impulsive decisions without consulting anyone…" He rubbed his chin. "Maybe I'll suggest some additional exercises you can build into her routine to curb that energy."

There he was, again. I was sure I was not just imagining it this time. I stifled the impulse to grin.

"That, I am sure, will be welcomed." I could just hear her surprised '_hey_!' as she, yet again, hit Chauntea's blessed dirt in the yard. "We'll have some time before we need to head out, anyway. " I frowned, my fragile good mood rapidly dissolving as I remembered what lie ahead.

"My lady. "he said, quietly. I looked up from my mug, at him: his face was serious. "Whatever comes, you'll get through it, I am sure. Tyr is with you." The conviction in his voice was so strong it almost rocked me back in my chair.

"I…thank you." That's all I was able to say; I must confess, that quiet encouragement meant a lot, coming from him.

"Did Nasher…did he treat you well?" he asked, then. I saw it on his face, that this somehow was important to him—it was not a kind of question I'd have expected otherwise.

"He was… gracious and gave me some advice concerning my upcoming trial." I settled on that, cautiously. "He also hinted at possible rewards and tasks waiting for me after the trial is…concluded." I was not sure why I said it just that way, but I figured some aspects of what transpired these days were better suited for talking over with him than with anyone else in our group.

"That would be typical Nasher." He nodded heavily. "Carrot and stick; he ruled this city with that long enough. But pardon me, my lady…" he interrupted himself. "It is not the time and place to have my…personal history interfere with what lies ahead for you. If you'd take me, I would, of course, accompany you on your journey."

"That would be…welcomed. Very much. "A horrible little knot between my shoulder blades where I usually stored almost all the tension just eased up significantly.

He stood up, carefully placing the chair back to the table while balancing the mug in the other hand. I caught myself secretly admiring the economy and precision of his movements, so much more visible when he was not wearing his plate armor.

"On one condition." I added.

There was that guarded expression on his face again; and that just strengthened my resolve about what I was to ask.

"Yes, my lady?" he said, with perfect courtesy.

"You know we need to talk." I said, looking straight into his eyes. "I would like to get it out of the way. I need to concentrate on this trial business. There are…questions that did arise, and some that surely will. About you. "I kept myself perfectly still. "About your past. And I'd much rather do it now, and away from this inn, than in front of everyone else after one of Bishop's insinuations, or getting blindsided in the courtroom. Will you walk with me?"

So we quietly slipped out of the room (I caught an entirely uncalled-for wink from Neeshka, but decided to ignore it), and he kept my uncle occupied with small talk while I went upstairs and shook myself out of the armor at last. I kept on the same clothes I got in my knight's mansion—I figured I'd just give it back once cleaned. I added my one good dark wool jack, my older sword belt, and re-clasped my warmer cloak to my shoulders. The City Watch had a reattachable fine lambskin lining to their officer cloaks that served very well during the colder months of the year.

"Your uncle worries about you a lot when you are not here. "Casavir said when we finally were out of the Inn. The sun started to set already and some fog drifted in with the breeze from the docks. I figured a walk along the old Watch beat I worked the first few weeks of my stay in the city would be just what's needed for this conversation. "Especially now."

"I never would have figured Duncan Farlong for a worrier. " I was glad I remembered that cloak lining: this was going to be a brisk walk.

"He cares a great deal about you. "he said, pulling on his leather gloves. Sensible as always. "Sometimes…people choose to hide that, for one reason or the other."

"Well, if that's true, he is only a hairsbreadth less demonstrative towards me than my foster-father." I snorted, much unladylike, I am afraid. "The Farlong brothers could win a competition in being stonefaced and stoic in all manners concerning family. You should have heard him when I first walked in to his inn. He even tried to hide his identity, can you imagine that?"

"If I am an innkeeper in the less-reputable side of town, I have possible dealings with the underworld and into my inn marches an armed-to-the-teeth lady warrior, a dwarf with two large axes strapped on his back, a tiefling in black leathers and an elf with an eight-foot long spear…"he said slowly, with his head tilted to one side, "I am not sure, but I'd probably be just a bit cautious as well, don't you think?"

"When in all Faerun did you learn to be so…so... understanding?" I stammered a bit. "Where is the stern condemnation of sinners, those consorting with dealers in disreputable merchandise, ale-guzzlers and habitual liars?"

I was only half-joking. I _was_ taught the tenets of Tyr by Aevan, my teacher, and truth to tell, those did not really include compassion towards anyone even close to my uncle's reputation or behavior. My largest fear of encountering actual city-bred warriors of my faith was precisely that my somewhat practical application of those said tenets, stemming from long conversations with my teacher and my life in West Harbor, would result in my immediate excommunication.

"I left those behind a long time ago, my lady. "he said. "But unlike you, who never had to unlearn them, I had a hard time with it."

We fell in to a comfortable pace next to each other. The traffic on the Docks streets these days was more brisk then when I arrived to the city, but still, it could not be measured by the standards of the bustling Merchant Quarter. There was plenty of space for both of us. My legs took me towards west, where the ships were anchored; I figured we might as well take a look at the _Halueth's Pride_ before the sun sets.

"Prejudices?" I asked to ease the conversation along. I was somewhat relieved that he agreed to this; but I hoped he saw the necessity. "The only one anyone ever tried to instill in me was that cityfolk in general cannot be trusted, and since that included pretty much everyone who was not from West Harbor, I chose to ignore it. After all, my parents were decidedly not from there."

"You had the luxury of choosing to ignore those prejudices, my lady. Believe or not, I was not given that choice…along with many of those with noble birth."

I bristled at the notion of having anything remotely resembling 'luxury' in my life back then, especially compared to a noble. Casavir might have noticed that, because he lifted a gloved hand in a placating gesture.

"No, let me explain that, my lady." I noticed the puddle in front of us just in time: the light was fading fast. A jump and I was over it. I enjoyed the feel of being able to move freely without the constraints of armor, however well constructed. I turned around expectantly, but Casavir chose to walk around it instead. I sighed inward.

_Still some work to do._

"All right, explain." I commanded as I hastened my pace. It really was getting cold. "I am willing to consider the notion that not all nobles are an utter waste of flesh…after all, I am technically one of them now. " That made me grimace furiously as the realization hit me once again. I was not sure good coffee, pastries and wines were enough compensation.

He noticed the grimace, no doubt.

"I beg your pardon, but it is still not the same." I had to smile at his ever present courtesy as he said that. I was aware of the betting that went around amongst my companions concerning when they'll first hear him swearing or lifting his voice at anyone else but Bishop.

He continued.

"When you are born as a noble, that is, from nobles on both sides who in turn also were born and raised nobles, and so on, and so forth…from the very moment of your birth you are constantly surrounded by invisible barriers. One does have a wet nurse, for instance, that is, a woman who was carefully searched for and selected well before the birth of her charge. She is, usually…"

"Did you have one?" This was fascinating. The thought of being raised by someone else than one's mother was not alien to me: after all, that's exactly what happened in my case…but being raised that way when one had a complete family? "And does that mean you were…fostered away?"

"No, my lady. A wet nurse, like I was about to explain…"

"When I so rudely interrupted…Oh. Sorry. Please continue, I'll try to be quiet as a church mouse."

There was just a hint of a curve to his mouth as he continued.

"…is a person who is chosen from common stock but after a long search, or on a recommendation from another family. Mine was the daughter of a weaponsmith who had listened to one of her father's customers a little bit too intimately, and that left her unwed, but heavy with child. Her father, who had some connections to Blacklake, happened to, in the past, have some custom of someone who owed fealty to my father. Hence the recommendation." He paused, probably seeing on my face that I did not quite grasp it. " You see, my lady, she had a rather bleak future to look forward to. Having a child out of wedlock in itself, then the fact that the father was most likely a noble who'd never acknowledge the baby. This way, she and her offspring found a home before he was even born, she no longer had to bear the scorn of her father and when I was weaned, my father found her a husband and they moved to one of our country estates."

"So…you had two mothers." I said slowly, somehow suspecting I still did not understand. "One who gave you birth and one who made sure you stayed alive through your first year of life? Is that common?"

"Most titled nobles were raised by wetnurses, yes." he nodded. "My mother and father…" He made a little gesture with one hand. "It is…you must understand, I did not talk about this…a long time."

"I understand." I said. "I am sorry."

"No need." He shook his head heavily. "This had to happen, you are quite right. And it might even be easier…this way."

The street we walked dead-ended at the docks. I swung out to the left and stopped, taking a deep breath from the sea-scented air.

"Different from swamp gases." I explained. "The Mere makes everything stink just enough so that you forget what real air feels like. First time I got to Fort Locke, I thought there was something wrong."

"And see, if you haven't stopped and called my attention to it, I would not even have noticed it." he said with a little wonder in his voice. "I grew up in this city…and believe or not, I had plenty of chance to run around here. After I was given to Tyr, I mean."

"So: how did that happen, anyway?" I asked. "Were you the youngest son or something?" I had this vague recollection that that's what nobles did: first son inherits everything, subsequent ones find service with the gods or other noble courts…

"I was the only son." he said, looking out towards the small forest of masts in the harbor. "I have a sister. She lives in Waterdeep with her husband and probably thinks me dead. She got married very young; that is also a noble custom, by the way." His voice had something of a bitter edge to it. "Daughters get married very young, sons often wait until well into their thirties, or even later. There is probably a very good reason for that, but I never had a chance to find it out." He visibly shook himself. "I was eight: we went to one of the country manors for the summer. On a very hot day, I went out without permission to play with some of the boys from the village: my milk-brother lived there with his mother, the wetnurse, and I haven't seen him for two years then. There was a sudden thunderstorm; some of the older hands said later they never saw anything like that. My mother wanted to find me, I was nowhere; my father ordered a search; the men refused to go out until the storm abated…my father almost cut down the village elder. It was chaos. When they finally found us, my father took a look at the scene and has sent for the local Tyr priest."

"_One of the chosen, one favored by the oak tree and the lightning_…" I whispered, remembering that strange morning when the god's power overtook me in my uncle's stable yard and I spoke about things I could not have known.

"Me and three other boys under the biggest oak tree in that part of the woods. A troll dead a couple of feet away; none of the boys harmed. I was lying there amongst charred grass and branches. Lightning struck the monster somehow, and me with it as well, but I lived."

I wrapped my cloak more securely around me. The air was wet with sea spray and it was eerily quiet around us. At this end of the docks there was no one, but some crates in cargo nests, a harbor crane, some scrawny cats gnawing on fish scraps, two inquisitive seagulls, and the sound of the waves pounding the stone piers. It was the month of Uktar, with its cold winds and frequent rains. It suited my mood just fine. I let the wind whip some loose strands of my hair around my face as I pondered the implications of what I just heard.

Casavir tapped my shoulder gently.

"It is cold here, my lady." he said. "Shall we find a place where you can get warmer?"

_Considerate, yet again. Damned nobles._

"Somehow it did not occur to me…" I said with suddenly chattering teeth, "…that it is, actually, quite cold by sunset at this time of the year. Some Harborman I am. Yes, please, if you don't mind. Any suggestions?"

"I doubt the _Dead Duck _would be someplace you'd like to be after a certain hour." He wore that abominable greasy grey cloak again: I was sure _he _was not cold. That thing had enough grease in its folds to insulate an entire squad of soldiers. "Hmmm…the _One-Eyed Captain_ might do, but their wine is even worse than your uncle's, no offense."

"None taken." I started walking again. "All right, this was clearly a bad idea. How about we get out of the district and actually have ourselves a real supper? There must be a place in the Merchant Quarter they won't kick us out…"

"You are wearing your Watchman cloak, and we both have our weapons and holy symbols…I doubt that we would be…" He touched the bridge of his nose. "If you don't mind the slightly dubious association, my lady…" he started out hesitantly, but I already turned towards him and we finished thee sentence together:

"The Moonstone Mask." I grinned. "You are a genius, Sir Knight, and that's official. Their kitchen is excellent, they don't spread tales, and as long as we have coin…" I shrugged. "I have been…introduced to the proprietress a while back when Cormick took me around the first time, so we should be treated just fine."

"Ah. Mistress Cheldarstorn. "

"Did I just detect a sigh there?" I quickened my pace and it delighted me to no end that he could actually keep up with me. Whoever my father was, he left me his long stride as a heritage just as well as his celestial blood. I always had to slow down for everyone--when I was traveling with Khelgar alone, it _really_ caused some friction. But two paladins out of armor, hurrying along narrow, winding streets towards the Docks exit…ah, this felt _good_.

"I never…frequented the place if that's what you mean, my lady." Even in that ragged cloak, with wind-tousled hair and puddle-splashed boots, he managed to look lofty. "My…recollection is purely, as it were, second-hand and academic. As you might remember, I was given to our god Tyr when I was eight."

"I do not doubt for a minute, Sir." I hastened to assure him, while nearing the bridge with the Watch's little booth. I could see the guards, busy lighting the fires in the lamps that lined the cobbled spine of the Dolphin Bridge. "But may I ask whence the knowledge then?"

He _still_ did not crack a smile. I made a mental note to ask Father Prior tomorrow if this is a special trait taught only here in Neverwinter.

"Without besmirching any names, let me just say that I had the acquaintance of some of good birth who… did not have to adhere to such strict rules of conduct as I, when at a certain age." he answered, with clipped precision.

I could only answer that with a grunt. I had to admit, that bout was his. I also had to admit that I enjoyed his company immensely, despite the wind, the puddles and the uncomfortable subjects we were discussing. I could only hope it was at least tolerable for him.

"Evenin', Lieutenant." The two watchmen on the bridge touched their helmets as they saw us approaching. "'Tis cold, isn't it?"

"It sure feels like winter's coming, Corporal..." I glanced at the speaker's shoulder pips. I remembered his face from several visits to the Watch House, and my memory dutifully supplied the name to the face after a few seconds. Of course. "…Rowley, isn't it? How's little Andoras?"

"Aye, Lieutenant, kind of you to rem'ber." His face lit up like the lamp he just kindled. "He's runnin' like a deer, thanks to you, ma'am…ready for the district championships in a week, would you believe that?"

"Glad to hear. "I smiled. "Well, tell him he'd better win that race or else who'd be my page when I get my castle one of these days?" I touched the brim of my cloak's hood to return their smart salute and hurried on—not to be rude, but as it was getting darker, the wind started to really pick up bringing the smell of rain.

"Do you know all Watchmen by name?" asked Casavir with some curiosity as he caught up with me halfway through the bridge.

"Oh, hardly." I said, bunching my shoulders against the wind. "But Corporal Rowley has a son who had a leg broken back when I just started out in the Watch. He did not have the coin for a healer, and Andoras is a runner who was to get into the semifinals of the sprinting cup they have at the Docks, so the father was desperate a bit. Almost enough to take some bribes from Moire's gang, that they offered before and after they broke his son's legs. "I shrugged. "Might sound trivial, and still…by such things a man's soul might be damned. To help him stay on the path of justice, Tyr allowed me to use my powers to heal the son. I made him promise to keep up running practice, not to mix with the gangs and be a good son—so he can come and be my page when I get a castle." I flashed a smile sideways. "I don't think that ever will come to pass, but it might keep Rowley's son off the streets and into something better in his future."

"And he'll never forget you, my lady." There was enough warmth in his voice so I felt the wind a lot less. "I've seen you with the Wolfpack enough that I know you have a way with children," I smiled again at the name he used for the group of urchins residing at the Flagon, "but we have so much bloodshed around us all the time…one almost forgets your gentle side."

I blushed a bit; I was grateful for my hood covering my face.

"We all have one. "I said, after some silence. "I often pray for a time when we are allowed to let it show. But I am afraid what lies ahead of us is more darkness and hardship then light and gentleness. May Tyr show us the way."

We got to the _Mask_ in silence. I know why I got moody: all of this talk about children. I did not have a particularly unhappy childhood when I compared it to all the stories I encountered in this city. Daeghun might not have showered me with affection and he sure was demanding and I worked hard most of the time, and there were always the Mossfeld brothers to cast a shadow on any day, but I had friends, some adults who cared about me, even a teacher when the time was right. I never had to go hungry, always had a bed to sleep in, didn't have to worry about what tomorrow brings.

Whenever I see a child suffer, I feel like I have to go out and make a man-shaped hole in the universe where that child's tormentor used to be. And feel good about it, too, like a paladin fighting for good and justice should. If I get hurt, that's one thing: Tyr has called me and I answered the call, so I should be prepared for it. But Vana's burns from a thug's hands, or Andoras' broken leg because his father did not accept bribes—that is done against the defenseless and the weak, and that I will not stand by and let it happen.

No wonder that as we entered the _Moostone Mask_ and I so much as glanced at the slightly frowning face of the doorkeeper lady, I drew myself up to my full height and addressed her at crispest voice.

"I have need for a private dining room and supper for two, and right away. That wind out there is straight from Icewind Dale." I even lifted an eyebrow as she obviously bit back what she was just about to say.

It was still too early for the _Mask_ to conduct much business: but then again, their main room was never too crowded from what I gathered. There was soft music, the blessed warmth of three fireplaces, faint smell of some citrussy perfume, and a couple of tables occupied with what looked like merchants finishing some business deals before heading home for the day. I spotted Ophala herself talking to one of her dancers at the edge of the stage and nodded towards her. The doorkeeper (Cormick told me she doubled as a bouncer too, which anyone could have guessed seeing how her arms bulged in the satin silk gown she wore) noticed that, too and her stance softened.

"Don't have much customers from the Watch; thought this was a business call. Pardon me, ma'am." she murmured. "Lia here will take care of you." She indicated one of the serving girls who fluttered nearby.

I nodded thanks and followed the yellow silk-clad Lia, Casavir in tow, still silent. I glanced towards Ophala again and caught her rather interested stare. I resisted my urge to lift my hand and waggle my fingers at her.

Some of the considerable advantages of the Moonstone Mask, that was emphasized to me by both Cormick and Ophala herself, was that they never asked questions as long as everything was paid, had always impeccable manners, the entertainment was tasteful and the kitchen was excellent. Although I never had a chance to test this, I strongly hoped all of it was true.

I did not have cause to be disappointed. In fact, as we turned towards the stairs leading up to the first floor, the proprietress herself intercepted us, in all of her slim, black velvet-clad glory.

"What an honor, Lieutenant." she said, with a slight curtsy that I suspected was not for me. "Welcome to the Moonstone Mask. I will take care of it from here, Lia, you may go." she added, and the yellow-clad girl was gone in an instant. "I am not entirely sure the room she might have led you would be to your taste." Ophala added, with slight emphasis on the word 'entirely'. "If you allow me to escort you to the Blue Room, please?"

"I am somewhat surprised that you remembered me that fast." I said as we continued up the stairs.

Ophala laughed softly.

"My dear Lieutenant…or should I say, Squire Pendwyr…pardon me for saying, but that is a somewhat endearingly naïve question from someone of your reputation. Just how many Heavens-touched officers the City Watch has, who'd arrive at my doorstep openly wearing Tyr's holy symbol and with a fellow paladin of her god, so recently returned to the city, in tow?"

"News still spread fast in Neverwinter, I see." Casavir remarked wryly, earning a dazzling smile from Ophala in return.

"My lord, would I still have the Mask if I couldn't keep up with what happens in my fair city?" She did not wait for an answer but stopped in front of a heavy, paneled oak door decorated with blue-on-blue velvet ribbons, opened it and curtsied again. "Here; I'll send word to the kitchen that supper should be served at once. I do hope to see your return patronage again, and soon, Squire…My lord…" she added with another perfect curtsy, and departed.

"I wonder how she does that in a dress with a footlong train…"I wondered half-aloud as I stepped in the room.

"It's not that difficult, really. "Casavir shrugged as he closed the door behind us. "It's just…"

"Good grief, I did not expect you to actually answer _that_!" I snapped in mock exasperation. "Have you ever heard of a rhetorical question or were you one of those annoying smartasses who always answered everything because they thought otherwise people might think you are human?…" What I just said finally reached my ears and I exhaled sharply.

"I am sorry. For a second there, I…" I made a helpless little sound. "I must have thought you were Bevil, my old friend back in West Harbor…sorry." I finished rather lamely, and looked at him. There was a definite smile on his face: I felt my breath catching.

"Oh, but I _was_ one of those." he said, shaking his head. "How did you figure, I have no idea, my lady."

"Yeah, right." I muttered. 'Whatever." The utter ease with which he tried to save my blunders made me feel like I was fourteen, all hands and feet and blushing all the time again.

To hide my embarrassment, I decided to take a better look at the room, as I fussed with the clasps of my cloak by the richly carved cloak stand by the door.

"Wow." I breathed. "This is almost like Sir Grayson's house."

The room had the same style oak furniture in it, all carved yet still simple. A small oval dining table set with crisp white linen and tableware took up the middle, with highbacked chairs around it and a buffet by the wall. The fireplace was lit, the logs crackling merrily, and the mantle was decorated with the same colored ribbons and vases like I've seen on the door. The heavy velvet curtains were the exact same hues of blue, just like the upholstery of the chairs by the table and the two armchairs with foot cushions in front of the fire. A bookcase stood by the opposite wall with some substantial tomes all bound in rich brown leather.

"Rather nice." said Casavir, shaking out his own cloak and hanging it next to mine. "Reminds me of…well, of our smaller dining room in the house here in the city."

I hesitated.

"Where…was your house?" I asked, then hastened to add. "You don't have to…"

"No, it is all well, my lady. This day is for opening old sores, looking into mirrors and rethinking futures, anyway." His shrug somehow managed to convey sadness and deep determination at the same time. "Our main residence was in Blacklake, as you probably guessed…it is still there. Not far from the Archives, actually, towards the castle. You might even passed it by on your way this morning."

"I might have." I eyed the armchair closer to the fire. "That looks awfully comfortable."

"Once you get into one of those, there is no escape." he said, utterly serious. He looked at the bookcase. "We might as well make ourselves comfortable until supper arrives. However, if you allow me, I first make sure this place does not have another similarity to that room in my father's house." I watched him as he walked around, running his fingers along the wood paneling, peering behind the book on their shelves, lifting the paintings on the wall and peeking behind them.

"Spyholes?" I asked while carefully sitting down into one of those chairs. "Your family spied on their guests?"

"And each other…an old and venerable tradition of the Korranos'. " This was the first time I heard him actually saying his own family name. "This room seems to be clean, though. I had to check: knowing some stories about the place, and the kind of business conducted…" He let that sentence trail, unfinished; there was a slight flush to his cheeks.

I shook my head as I sunk deeper into the armchair. It was almost indecent, just how comfortable this thing made me feel.

"If you mean the fact that this place used to be a high-class brothel before the Luskan war, then yes, I understand your caution." I watched how that flush deepened and had to admit that I secretly enjoyed the sight. He probably didn't think I even knew what that word meant. "Remember: I served in the City Watch for a while before we met. It's not as if I didn't see things while walking around in the Docks."

"You have many…unexpected sides, my lady." he said a little hesitantly.

"I am an unexpected card." I said frankly, meeting his eye.

"Indeed." he nodded. "That you are." He sat down in the other chair, facing me. "So: where should I start?"

"Goodness." That took me aback a little bit. "I thought you already did…It's not that I want to know every single thing about your life since you were born, but…"

"But you are facing a trial that possibly exposes a lot of dirty laundry about me as I am one of your companions and you need to make sure you are in possession of all the facts before you learn it from Torio Claven, along with everyone else who is in the trial room. Yes, Sand explained it after he came back last night to the Flagon." His face was a carefully guarded mask again. "Besides the fact that he is an insufferable, arrogant and rather narcissistic elf, Sand actually is quite sharp. And I have direct orders from Father Prior to talk to you as well."

"Direct orders." I said slowly. "He…Hlam ordered you to tell me about your family?"

"Yes." he stated flatly.

I felt like someone just gut-punched me. If he acted under orders, obeying a direct command from his superior…I had to stop myself from asking the question that hammered behind my forehead out loud.

…_then obviously that's all there is, and I shouldn't think that he ever felt anything else but…_

_This is not about you, Arrighan. This should not be about you. Just like Sand said, just like Nevalle said, just like Nasher said, this is much bigger than you_.

Still, that did not stop me from feeling like I was falling.

"Then clearly you should obey your superior, Sir." I said in what I hoped was a steady voice. "After we got supper served." I added, as I heard the discreet knocking on the door.

If I had the appetite, that is.


	15. In The Palace Of My Shame

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**Disclaimers:**

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections.**

**There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things. In case anyone was wondering, that's why this was rated M-- so far.**

**I write to music; there is a 'soundtrack' to each of these chapters. In case anyone is interested, this one's included: _Love Rescue Me_ from U2's _Rattle and Hum_; _Passage of Time_ from the _In The Name of the Father_ soundtrack; and _Inside _from Sting's _Sacred Love_. For the ballad of poor Matty Groves (which I used without any alterations to the lyrics at all) see Chapter 4.**

**I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… Arrighan is entirely my fault, though…**

**Chapter Fifteen**

"As you already know, my family is descended from one of the original Nine of Lord Halueth Never." Casavir stared into the fireplace as he started, with a finely etched goblet of glass between his fingers. It fitted there; it _belonged_, unlike the one in my hands. I kept turning it around and around, my own wine untouched. "Galavren Korranos, second of the Nine. His image was in my father's library, painted on a cracked wooden board, blackened by time and possibly fire so much you could barely make out his face at all. I mostly remember the eyes: as a small boy every time I sneaked into the room to take a peek at some of the books, I imagined that his eyes followed me. I took to taking out my handkerchief and covering the painting." He smiled wistfully. "I am afraid I was a rather strange boy."

"I tried on my foster-father's leather armor when I was ten." I said sympathetically. "Of course it did not fit, and he caught me, and there was a long stern lecture…I don't think Daeghun wanted me to start just that early." I put the goblet down before I dropped it with one of my usual clumsy-graceful moves.

"Stern lectures I had aplenty." he said, nodding. "As a firstborn and only son, I was expected to fully take over my duties as the head of the House one day, so my father wanted to make sure I understood my responsibilities and obligations just as well as the privileges that went with it. That, of course, changed a bit after that day Tyr claimed me."

We got back to those wide, deep and indecently comfortable armchairs after the server girl cleaned up the table. The supper would have been the best meal I've ever eaten, had I not been utterly spoiled by that 'small informal lunch' the very same day in Castle Never. As it were, it occupied the number two spot, with a 'tad too elaborate and heavy for my taste' note: little appetizers on hot toasted bread; a clear beef soup with root vegetables and meat shaped like half-inch stars; a baked fish course in a pastry shell with mushrooms and oysters; roasted pheasant with apples, grapes and prunes, glazed with orange and tangerine sauce; steaming-hot puddings baked individually, in a thick, rum-laden custard sauce; a large bowl of fresh fruits, some of which I've never seen in my life before, accompanied by at least six different varieties of cheese. Each course came with its own wine, poured into a different goblet of etched crystal with exquisite grace by our server. I would have been utterly intimidated, but at that point I simply did not care enough. I just concentrated on not dropping anything, keeping my elbows off the table, and chewing every mouthful before I took another bite.

But those armchairs were really quite inviting, so I suggested at the end to get back in front of the fire. Frankly, sitting at the two ends of that table made me think too much about formalities, rules and obligations. As if this entire evening was not about it already.

"So after that day…you went to the chapterhouse?" I asked.

"Yes. With other nobles' sons, and some orphans who were given to the order. Us, who had families, could go home a couple of times a year; and those of us whose parents actually lived in the city got visiting rights even more often than that. It's not that we were cloistered—after a while you just did not quite fit in at home, so those visits for the most of us got less and less frequent as we got older. After I turned fourteen, I saw my father maybe once of twice a year."

"And your mother…? "

"She…that was the year she died. My fourteenth." He stared into his wine. "I learned about it from my father's letter. She was ill for a while, but hid it well; she went to the temple of Ilmater a lot to ease her pain. It was a wasting illness: something was growing inside her and no amount of magical healing could erase it—she went to the priests too late with it." He looked up at me. "I understand your mother died when you were very young."

"She died protecting me during a battle that nearly destroyed West Harbor." I said quietly. "I did not even know about it until Duncan told me right after we rescued Shandra from the githyanki. I….I was always told she died giving birth to me." I remembered the pain in Duncan's eyes as he was saying her name. "The forces of Neverwinter and the army of the King of Shadows happened to choose West Harbor for their final confrontation. My mother tried to shield me from whatever destroyed our house. Daeghun, my foster father and his half-brother found her and Daeghun's wife, Shayla…they were both dead and I lived."

"So that's how he became your guardian." Casavir nodded. "I was wondering…"

"I still don't quite understand myself." I said. "I think they all were adventuring together at some point and then decided to settle down. All that dusty memorabilia on Duncan's walls…"

"From all over Faerun. The Farlong brothers must have had some remarkable years behind them."

"Hah!" I smiled briefly, imagining those two, Daughun and Duncan, together, on the road, fighting side by side, even. "Probably mostly spent trying not to strangle each other."

"Maybe what you see these days is just the result of something that happened to them in the past." he said in a faraway voice, and I knew he was back in his own sad past again. "I often ask that of myself, about my father. Whether what happened to my mother formed him in the years that followed, made him into the man who…did what he did."

"But you knew him before and after." I said, as gently as I could. There was a lot of pain there. "You remember him before your mother's death, too…was he so different afterwards? Or is it just the eyes of a young boy that saw him differently from those of the young man he became, all the while being formed and molded by forces greater than him?"

"It is true that we all change during our life, yes." He sipped on his wine, the pain in his eyes a bit lessened. "However, I believe that there is one point during everyone's life when, at a crucial crossroads point, the gods grant a moment so clear, so transparent that even the dullest person can recognize--the way we act, the way we choose at that moment might define not only our future but a lot of others'."

"Aevan told me something similar." I said. I carefully worked my boots off my feet without moving or using my hands, and now I curled my legs under me with a sigh. The great armchair just became even more comfortable; plus, my stockinged feet got a bit of relief. "He said that's why the faithful of Tyr need to constantly examine and re-examine their deeds and thoughts and decisions; so that when that Moment comes, we see with crystal clarity what the god wants from us."

We were silent for a while, just staring at the fire. It was odd, how he and I could just sit there, not saying anything, and still, the silence did not grow uncomfortable.

"So when I turned eighteen, I got invested as my father's official heir, with all the due ceremonies and banquets." he continued after another sip of wine. "It was a week-long series of events, my lady, and my father really tried to emphasize the fact that his heir and one-day head of the Korranos House was now a chosen of Tyr, consecrated to His service. The Even-Handed is traditionally strong in Neverwinter and on the Sword Coast; my sister got betrothed and eventually married that same year to a noble of Waterdeep whose House also gave clerics and paladins to Tyr in the past generations." He frowned. "Understand, my lady, that I realized full well my father's efforts to use me as a tool in this, but as a son of the Korranos house and one raised as a noble, this was not entirely unseemly to me. As a paladin of Tyr, I was sworn to uphold law and order, help the weak and those in need—there was nothing of a conflict there. Not yet. I was content to serve the greater good, whether of Neverwinter or of my House."

"I understand." I sensed growing desperation and something akin to darkness, tinged with red: anger, perhaps, and something more. "Are you all right?"

He raised his eyes from the goblet's slender stem between his fingers: their azure was dulled like broken glass.

"I…I betrayed my oath to my order." he whispered.

I took a deep breath, willing myself not to wince, shrink back or make any noise of apprehension at that, although all my training demanded me to recoil and turn away. For a paladin to say that, for that to happen…

_Something like that ballad described had to happen to that paladin, yes._

With a short, violent move, he emptied his goblet in one long gulp and stood up. That swirling anger was very close to the surface now; I've never seen him move like that, except in battle. He started to pace the room, with bunched-up shoulders, like a caged animal. I remained silent, waiting. Something in me took control, some part of me that always rose to the surface when I needed it. I breathed in the slightly pine resin-scented warm air from the fireplace, braced my back against the chair and followed him with my eyes.

"You see… Battling the tribes of the Old Owl Well was something that had to be done. It was simple, a necessary act. There was no doubt as to what must be done, no... conflicts."

"Conflicts?" that calm and collected part of me supplied.

"There are battles that can be fought, and others that cannot, my lady. I went to Old Owl Well on orders first, with Callum of the Nine. I saw my first battles there. I was part of the garrison for a long time, returning to the city from time to time. I asked for that assignment, eager to serve, eager to do good, to show how I can accomplish something without necessarily being the heir of Lord Korranos…just being Casavir of Tyr." The short laugh that escaped him was laced with bitterness. I inhaled sharply: just how long he kept all of this bottled up within himself? "I went there because I felt my sword could make a difference. My head was full of images of glorious battles with my shining sword held high, standing victoriously on top of a pile of dead orcs while the royal banner of Neverwinter flew above my head…Instead I got almost lifeless mountains, gruff Graycloaks most of whom never read a book it their lives, lot of reconnaissance work involving laying on my stomach in dust and if it rained, mud, for hours, tracking orc troop movements, almost no additional resources from the city that was busy with rebuilding, and, of course, the occasional letter from my father about how I should return to the city and enter the court instead. I still remember lines from one of those letters: '_One can better serve the greater good in the position one was born to by the grace of the gods than chasing for glory in hacking at savages_.' He hoped I would rise quickly in court and eventually become one of the Nine, especially as I was considered Lord Callum's protégée. "

He stopped his pacing long enough to pour himself another goblet of wine from the crystal decanter on the table. He downed it like someone who needs strength and uses whatever is at hand, and chased it down with another one. I've never seen him drinking that much before.

"That accursed ballad has it all right." he said harshly. "Gods know how the ranger figured out who I was…Remember how he made Grobnar play it that morning in the _Flagon_, my lady?" I nodded. "The last thing I expected that anyone still remembered it, let alone made it into a song. How my father would have laughed…"He shook himself as if awakening from a nightmare. "My father took a second wife not long after I went with Callum as his adjutant. Some had questioned his decision, but most congratulated him. He was in his prime years still, and I the only son, recently dispatched to a dangerous border fort, and more likely given to holy devotions than to settle down, marry and have children, albeit our order does not deny that right from our members, as you well know. Thus, most of the so-called 'society' agreed that Lord Darnell's marriage to Lady Temnara, youngest daughter of Lord Cyran Tavorick was rather prudent." He swallowed. "She was…about my age. I saw her first at an official dinner at Midwinter when Callum sent me back to the city. It was the ages-old story, the one that they write ballads about, indeed. I just never thought my family gets into one. Everyone who knew Tavorick agreed that all his daughters' resembled their mothers entirely—he had four wives. Oh, they were wrong. The old lord is still full of life, and vigor, and wit, never watched his tongue and never conformed to rules. Temnara had all of that in her—and great beauty, too. No wonder she had all of my father's knights and squires around her fingers in the blink of an eye. She opened up the house, had balls, parties, hunts in the countryside…" He stopped by the bookcase this time, staring at the spine of the leather-bound volumes like they had a window behind them to something only he could see. "That man…Matty Groves, the one in the ballad…"

"Yes…?" There it was: the crux of the whole matter, the center of the storm. I could feel it. I leaned forward, grabbing the arms of my chair with both hands. "Who was he?"

'My milk-brother." he said flatly. "My wetnurse's son. My best friend in the entire world."

"Oh, Gods." I breathed. I felt my heart hitting against my ribs with a heavy 'thud'; distinct and different from its usual steady beat.

"He was so straight and innocent, so…_good_." Casavir continued to stare at the books, with his back to me, one hand gripping the bookcase. I could see his knuckles were white. "He was almost dancing from excitement when he was made squire through his own efforts and ordered to the city; my father was truly impressed by him, I think. '_You'll see, Cas…_' he said to me, '_You'll see…I won't disappoint you.'_"

I felt nauseous. Truly there must have been a curse on them; some kind of evil will twisting their fates together so. Deep inside me, the celestial part of my soul recoiled in horror. The unthinkable thought, the oathbreaking on his part, although it seemed more understandable now, still revolted me.

"Someone must have told my father at some point." His voice was so even, so measured, so devoid of emotions now. "One of the servants, if I remember right. There was Truthtelling involved after the…events. Judge Oleff Uskar led the investigation in person. My father caught them one night in bed, just like the ballad says."

He started to recite the lines then, in the same flat, even tone: my hair started to rise at the back of my neck.

Matty Groves, he lay down and had a little sleep.  
And when he woke, Lord Darnell was standing at his feet.  
Saying "Do you like my feathery bed? And do you like my sheets?  
And do you like my lady wife, who lies in your arms asleep?"

"It's well I like your feather bed, and well I like your sheets.  
Better I like your lady wife who's here in my arms asleep."  
"Well, get up, get up," Lord Darnell cried, "get up as fast as you can!  
Never be said in this fair land that I killed a naked man."

"Oh, I can't get up, I won't get up, I won't get up for my life.  
For you have two bitter swords and I have but a pocket-knife."  
"'Tis true I have two bitter swords, they cost me deep in the purse.  
You shall have the better of them and I shall have the worse."

"And you shall strike the very first blow, and strike it like a man.  
I shall strike the very next blow, and I'll kill you if I can."  
Well Matty struck the very first blow, and hurt Lord Darnell sore.  
Lord Darnell struck the very next blow, and Matty struck no more.

Lord Darnell he took his wife and he sat her on his knee,  
Saying, " Do you like the better of us, Matty Groves or me?"  
And up spoke his own dear wife, never heard to speak so free.  
"I'd rather a kiss from dead man's lips than you in your finery."

Lord Darnell then took his bitter sword, to strike a mortal blow,  
Drove it through his lady's heart and pinned her against the wall.  
"Grave to grave'' Lord Darnell said, "to put these lovers in.  
But my wife shall have the upper of them, for she was of noble kin."

This was the first time I actually heard the entire thing: it had power in it, deep and dark and incredibly savage. I remembered the almost keening, crude tune Grobnar played, powerful in its simplicity, and I had to close my eyes as I listened. I felt tears welling up behind my eyelids and I fought to keep them back.

"Oh, but it's not over yet." he whispered when he finished. "You see, my lady, my father did the right thing when he challenged Matty—that was a fair fight. So judged the Reverend Uskar, High Chief Justiciar of Neverwinter. Even chances, sword against sword. Tyr's justice has been served. But the Lord Darnell gravely hurt the laws of the city and the gods when he has slain his wife, and for _that _he was tried and convicted in court. As the sentence was read, he claimed the right to trial by combat. And he named a champion too…although that champion did not know it at the time."

"Oh sweet Ilmater's mercy, no." I remembered what Sand said as we walked to Brelaina's office the day before. "He asked for _you_, didn't he?"

"Seems so logical, isn't it?" Still no emotion in his voice other than a faint tinge of slurring from the wine. "It must have been, to him: Tyr clearly marked me early on so that I will be my father's champion and defender of the family name one day. And that day has come. All I had to do is to be the dutiful son and bear him justice, for surely he was in the right." I don't think his father was quite in his right mind by then…no one sane would have asked that, surely. Then again, what man would not have been driven insane by what befell them? "But I fled the city instead, leaving my cloak in Tyr's temple; there was no place in Neverwinter for me any more. My father died the next morning with sword in his hand; my family's name was struck out of the books and all our possessions confiscated—so judged by the High Justiciar and Lord Nasher."

_How could he bear that…all this time?_ And how could I be so cruel as to make him live through it again, constantly pushing for answers I thought I really had to know, instead of just trusting him as I should have? I opened my eyes-- and the tears came out after all, unbidden, unwanted, streaming down my cheeks.

"You are…crying, my lady?" He was back next to me with two strides. I looked up at him and tried to push the tears back.

"I am so sorry." I said. "I should not have pushed and pushed…" I felt a trickle of anger waking in me. "Wanting to know the truth I made you re-live all that. I should have known that Tyr's sword has two edges just like his hammer bears two heads. It can hurt both ways. I should have trusted you. I should have…"

"No." he said with a force that made me stop. He kneeled down next to my chair and put his hands on the arms just a bit away from mine. "That, my lady, will not do. You did not do anything that I would not have done myself, had I been the leader in your stead. You are facing something that threatens your very life. This accusation of Luskan seeks to strip away everything that you hold dear, to brand you as a vile fallen-from-grace paladin, a mockery, a fallacy and a threat that should be put down and cursed and forgotten forever. This should not, must not happen…if there is anything that I can do to aid, this is the least of it."

I could hear the truth in his voice, and some desperation, too. I realized then that he saw in what happened to me the repeat of what befell on his family, and sought to prevent that with whatever he could.

"But facing all of that…bearing all of that…all alone." I whispered. "You carried it for so long…One should not have to deal with such things alone. It is…too much."

I could see some life returning to his eyes; there was fierceness in the depths of his azure gaze now, a slowly kindling fire that made my skin prickle with its warmth.

"Mayhap it is." His voice was steady. "Listen to me, my lady: it was my pride and my fear that made me flee the city, and my pride and my fear that kept me from returning. I thought I was done with Neverwinter, I thought to move it to act was something beyond my strength. I was bitter and disillusioned, I wanted nothing else but to lose myself in battle, to set an example, perhaps. I think I was a little bit mad, those first years, myself. No wonder the orcs named me with one of their spirit names."

"_Katalmach_…He Who Loses Himself in Battle." He was so close I could see his individual eyelashes, and smell the wine on his breath, mingling with a faint incense scent coming from his clothes.

"But you have shown to me something else." he continued. "You did show me that hope can spring up in the most unexpected places; that one does not, indeed, have to deal with turmoil and conflicts of the past alone. You steadied me in difficult times, my lady, and made me realize my errors, thus aiding me to return to whence I should have never left. There is resolution now where before there were only doubts." His hand reached out and clasped mine for a brief moment. "And for that, I thank you."

I blushed slightly. His words reminded me of the moment we first met, at the side of that deep gorge behind Old Owl Well: dried sagebrushes, a couple of tangled brambles and sweetbriar amongst the tumbled rocky slopes from where a contingent of orcs surged up and attacked us from two sides. When we finally got through them and saw that there was _another_ band chopping them up from the other side, both Khelgar and I cussed up a blue streak before we even greeted them. My opening line, if I remember correctly, was: "_Oh, fuck, Khel, this must be that godsdammed vigilante group Callum warned us about…_" Yes, not exactly the ideal greeting from one paladin to another. And yet, here he was, thanking me for something I was not even aware doing, _kneeling _in front of me, for Tyr's sake…

"There is nothing to thank me for." I think I said that a bit too harshly; I even shook my head to emphasize my point. "I am still not sure if I did not hurt you more with this than necessary. And for…"I finally felt enough strength to ask it. "And for what odd reason Father Prior has commanded you obedience in this? I am not your confessor, or anyone who you should be beholden to. Why?"

He searched my face with his eyes for a while before he spoke again.

"I do not wish to offend you." he said, hesitantly, at last. " But I must speak without restraint if I am to answer and it might not be to your liking. "He was back to old-school formality, I could hear the cadences of the Temple in his voice, and I sighed inward. But I was the one who asked, so if there was anyone to blame, it was me. "Will you hear me, my lady?"

"Of course." I said, my voice trembling slightly. I was not sure what he might say after all that he already said that can offend me.

He straightened back from his knees and eased himself into the other armchair opposite me.

"My lady, you are…what the order calls _Imperfecta; _someone unfinished. Your teacher did not complete your education the way a formally trained Tyr paladin's should end. Whatever befell him, he probably intended to bring you to the city when the time was right and present you at the Temple." The voice he used was still full of formal tone, but at the same time some of his natural gentleness was back, and that soothed my irritation that started to rise hearing what he said. "That did not happen, though…and that presented an unexpected problem for Prior Hlam when you arrived here."

"The fact that I am a…a hedge-paladin?" I was very much aware how childish and petulant my voice sounded. "Are you saying I am the first they have seen?"

"Believe it or not, my lady…like I said, usually those the god calls are brought to the Order very soon after their calling. It is…it is hard to explain, but some powers might be also interested in inexperienced and untrained powers of the Light and seek them out to…try and turn them from their path. Without proper training in certain areas…"

"Like smelling out the Lower Planes' stench." I said bitterly. Aevan disappeared the spring on my last year in West Harbor. He was due coming through at planting time, and again just around the Harvest Fair, like for a decade every year, but he never arrived, and no one saw or heard about him. On my way to Neverwinter, I asked just about everyone I could.

"Like that, yes." Casavir nodded. "So first Prior Hlam saw you, he was…cautious. Especially with you being an _aasimar_."

"You know, before I met Neeshka, I did not even know there was a name for… what I am." I saw the disbelief in his eyes. "No, truly. She told me she was a 'tiefling', and I just looked at her and said '_you're a what…?_' Like a true country bumpkin. Paladin's honor I did!" I said a bit louder, and finally, after such a long time, I was startled by his laughter.

It was deep, and rumbling, and wonderful: it lightened my heart, the more since I truly did not expect to hear it tonight.

"Ah, my lady Arrighan." he said at last. "I would have very much liked to be there to see that."

"I bet you would not have wanted to hear her cussing me out, though; she though I was making fun of her the way she said my kin does sometimes. Again, I had no idea what she was talking about, and Khelgar had to explain to her where I was coming from. And then she finally said '_you mean, you had no idea your race is called aasimar_?'" I leaned back a bit more in my chair and let out a sigh. "My teacher disappeared. He…came through twice a year, spring and fall, since I was twelve, and then…this year, he just did not. Not at Greengrass, not at Highharvesttide. I do not know what happened."

"I am sorry, my lady. " he said seriously.

"I pray every day that I meet him again, and by Tyr's grace, I will." I tried to get back to our original conversation. "So: you are saying Father Prior was…cautious about me first? Why?"

"A Heavens-touched young woman emerges from the Mere, in old and worn platemail dragging with her a dwarf who claims he wants to be Tyr's monk because some of them kicked him around in a tavern brawl, a tiefling who once held the Greatest Thief in Neverwinter title, plus a druid who is an elf to boot and is from a circle that has fallen silent. That's what you probably looked like at that point, am I correct?"

"Ye-es." I admitted, a tad sheepishly. "That is a rather good description of us." I reminded myself sternly that I asked for this. "So truly: what made Prior Hlam not to send for the inquisitors?"

"He saw a dream. A True Sending." Casavir said. "I am not allowed to speak about it, but whatever he saw, made him to…decide to aid you, my lady."

"Ah." I said. True Sendings were, if I remembered right, direct, straight and unerring, and from the god himself. As far as channels to the divine were concerned, there was only one higher regarded; when one's god directly took over someone and spoke through them. Like it happened to me.

"After you…sent me to the Temple…" he continued, tactfully avoiding mentioning just that episode, "Father Prior bound me with the vow of obedience again, and as my…atonement for what I've done, gave me a task which I already accepted without knowing." He straightened in his chair.

"He bade you to beat me up every day with practice blades, to make me read a book full of metaphors and simile I have no hopes to decipher without your help, to watch my back if I run into anything too dangerous, like a cave full of githyanki, and to put up with any temper tantrum and mood swing I happen to have, up to and including prying into your most painful memories?" I stared at him incredulously. "And you accepted? Because a paladin is _that _obedient?"

"I accepted, my lady, " he said softly, "because I wanted to. Because I know that this is what I have to do. Because, unlike my father, I _know _what the god called me for that day, in that storm." That azure gaze bore into my eyes. "And I will see it through. In need or in plenty, in peace or in war, in living or in dying, from this day forward, until I am released, or until death takes me. So help me Tyr."

I felt like lightning just struck me, and I felt cold sweat running down my back. Country bumpkin or not, even _I _recognized those words. Those were part of the oath a knight swears to his lord at the ceremony of fealty; the oath of binding and loyalty. No nobleman took those words on their lips lightly unless they meant them exactly for what they were.

Without realizing it, without wanting it, I just bound this man to myself more tightly than he ever was bound to anyone but the god.

Honestly, I did not know if I was worthy of it.


	16. You Hold The Line

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**Disclaimers:**

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections; I give my due thanks to those who already have done so.**

**There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things. In case anyone was wondering, that's why this was rated M-- so far.**

**This chapter's soundtrack included a lovely little tune from the Scottish band Capeircaille, _The Little Crusade_ from _Grace and Pride_; _La Serena_ from Azam Ali's haunting _Portals of Grace_ and _Push_ by Sarah McLachlan from _Afterglow_.**

**I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… Arrighan is entirely my fault, though…**

**Chapter Sixteen**

Exhausted, irritated, headachy and still nauseous, I dragged myself off the plank of the _Halueth's Pride_, dropped my saddlebags to the ground with a heavy 'thud' and turned around to wait for the rest of my merry little band to emerge. I might have liked sea air, but the sea sure as hells did not like me. 'A mite choppy' was the way our captain described the waters the first time we hit a bigger wave, cheerfully grinning at me all the time, while I was grabbing the rigging with both hands and tried not to vomit in his face. That would have been bad manners.

The 'mite choppy' weather prevailed during the two days of our passage. I think I lost several pounds.

"First thing we need to do, "Neeshka announced, bouncing down next, with perfect balance, smiling at me happily, "is to get to an inn so you can have a nice real meal on solid ground."

"First thing _I_ need to do is convince my feet that the ground is firm under, Neesh." I groaned, massaging my temples. "Then to figure out how to put my stuff on Lorra so that I don't just drop it across her back to the other side…then to ask Elanee for something for headache…and then I think I need a bed. With real pillows. And a warm comforter."

"Nah, trust me." She gave me a one-sided hug. "All you need is some food. You are grumpy because you barely keep any food and water down for days. It's all right, I figured out after our first sea voyage together from Highcliff to Neverwinter that you are a landlubber."

"Thanks for that vote of confidence, m'dear." I said sourly. My mouth tasted as if some particularly foul parts of the Mere were stuck inside. "But I think I would be fine with just some toast." _She_ looked like she was ready for pretty much anything, as did everyone else in our little group, coming down the ship behind her, up to and including the gnome. Right now I hated every single one of them.

"Are you all right, my lady?" Casavir hovered, like an all-plate statue; I did barely feel well enough to dress, let alone put my armor on. And there he was, perfect again, even clean-shaven. I glared.

"No, she's not." Neeshka glared, too, rather protectively. "But she'll be fine. It's just seasickness, you know…" she said, then added. "It's not like she's pregnant or anything…" She stopped and looked at me with a slight frown on her face: "You _aren't_, are you, Rig?"

For a split second I thought I heard her wrong. Then I caught the furiously spreading crimson on Casavir's face, and I realized that my ears were not playing games with me.

"I have déjà vu." Sand said at this point, with one of those complicated lofty lilts in his voice that I learned to hate already. "I could have sworn that Grobnar was _just_ coming off the ship, but you surely sound like him _here_. Tactlessness abound…" He regarded me with his analyzing glare. "Well, since she's asked already… are you?"

"NO!" I am afraid that I startled about half a dozen placidly snoozing seagulls around the dock with that yell. "NO, I AM NOT PREGNANT, YOU TWO, GODS, HOW CAN YOU EVEN THINK SOMETHING LIKE THAT!" Sailors stopped to gawk. From the ship, one of them let out a long whistle. A dockworker dropped a sack he was carrying. I could hear Khelgar snicker.

"Okay, okay, okay, I am sorry…" Neeshka threw up her hands. "I mean, it _can_ happen, you know, you don't have to be so…"

"By all that is holy, Neesh…" I said from the corner of my mouth. "_Just_ shut up, will you?"

"Idiot." Shandra came up behind me and patted my shoulder, looking at Neeshka like she just filched a star sapphire from her jewelry box. "Maybe later, when we are between four walls, I will tell her about the physical impossibilities of virgin conception. Let's move out, people." she added louder, taking me by the arm. "We don't have all day."

As she steered me towards the horses just led off the plank, I could catch part of Neeshka's furious whispering to Elanee: '…_I don't get it, El, I mean, he even took her to the Mask for dinner, for Sune's sake, why shouldn't I think…'_

"Ouch." I grabbed Lorra's reins and rested my forehead on her neck for a moment. She neighed softly. "That was…awkward."

"Uh-huh." Shandra patted my back, sympathetically. "We'll have to make sure Casavir does not kill her later, I don't know, do you paladins have a counter-smite or something?"

"Neesh is not evil, Shandra, it wouldn't work the first place." I felt a bit better now that I spent more than a minute on solid ground.

"Or I could just toss her in the harbor for you." Shandra said, hopefully. "And Sand, while I am at it."

"Nah, I need him for the lawyering part." I said, playing along. "After the trial, however..."

"Deal." Shandra smirked. "I must admit, your face was pretty funny, though."

"Don't you start, unless you want extra blue bruises on you after practice." I looked over Lorra's head to where Casavir was busy with Elbriel and waved feebly at him. "Hey." He looked up. "No kill tiefling, okay?"

He seemed to consider that for a second.

"Make her eat thieves' tools she hides in pocket?" he said, tentatively. "Please?"

Shandra watched us with knitted eyebrows.

"I am pretty sure that was joking I heard." she said slowly. "Arrighan, was he making a joke in response to your joke? Did I hear that right?"

"It's a paladin thing, Shandra." I said, returning the pat-on-the-shoulder thing with sudden glee. I felt much better. "You wouldn't understand."

And there we were, our merry little band, facing the wonders of Port Llast. At Sand's insistence, we split up: him, Shandra and Casavir were to come with me to visit Haeromos, while the rest was to take our luggage and horses to the town's only inn. I hoped it would meet Sand's rather finicky taste but was not posh enough so Neeshka would feel compelled to filch something. Sometimes it was rather hard to keep everyone happy.

This, of course, meant that I did not get any closer to that, bath and bed I so much desired, but at least it showed up faintly on the horizon of my day. I tried to make a feeble attempt to give some instructions to Elanee about what I'd like, but she just shook her head, amused.

"I think after traveling with you all these months, Arrighan, I _can_ figure out how to get rooms, board and other provender in an inn. Luckily, none of us are _too_ finicky," she pointedly looked at Sand, who also pointedly ignored her, "so we should be just fine with whatever this place offers; I doubt it is that bad. I'll make sure there will be some arrangement for a bath, though." she added with a smile before they departed, leaving the four of us to take care of official matters. I _knew _I could count on her.

Of course, our wizard did not exactly made himself loved by anyone on the street from the first moment forward, which started to worry me for a bit.

"Here we are," he said, with arms spread as we stopped just outside the harbor. "Port Llast, the illustrious, at last." He glanced at me. "Watch where you step, child--you might get some of the local culture on your boots."

"Gods, Sand," Shandra grimaced, "you hold your nose so high it's a wonder you don't wear your hat on it."

"I don't even know what that means, my dear, but I'm sure as far as your local expressions go, it's quite quaint - and charmingly ignorant." Sand answered, not even looking at her.

"Oh, enough you two." I sighed, feeling better and better by the minute. I was off that ship, the ground under me was not moving and there was a definite prospect of a hot bath and a bed with real pillows in my future. "We are here to gather information, and until they prove otherwise, we'll just assume everyone is nice here. Right?"

"You might have some rude awakenings, my dear girl." Sand shrugged elegantly. "Remember _why _we are here. We should find Haeromos as quickly as we can--he can grant us access to Ember and hopefully we can find some clues there."

Shandra winced. She did not need reminding--she actually knew people there. I thought she was still hoping for survivors.

"Asking the locals couldn't hurt either…" She looked around, and pointed. "After we speak to Haeromos, of course--that house with the flags and the guards in front of it must be the place we are looking for."

"Locals…" Sand murmured, disgusted. "Fine, fine, agreed." he added after he caught my glare. "They may have seen something, and I suppose as long as we use _simple _words, we may be able to get information out of them."

"I am _so _glad to have you along, Sand." I said, a tad acerbically. Not that he'd noticed, this time. I must confess I was a bit proud of myself for being subtle.

"The pleasure is all mine... as exceptional as my skills are, it is good to see them put to good use." He started out towards the house Shandra pointed out, clearly expecting us to follow him.

"If he'd be more pleased with himself, I think he'd actually rise up to the air." whispered Shandra to me. Then a bit louder, to Casavir. "Is everything all right? You seem to be awfully quiet."

"'Tis no matter. Just contemplating various ways to do harm to tieflings." he said with absolutely no expression on his face.

_Oh, yay. _I almost skipped. Whatever made him to crack jokes all of a sudden, I hoped he would keep it up. I had to gradually discover that he had a rather dry sense of humor and a wonderful, deadpan delivery.

It seemed that some burden got lifted from him with our long talk at the Moonstone Mask, and, strangely enough, I felt myself growing increasingly comfortable in his company, despite the bruises I acquired during our latest sparring matches. He said that was because I was getting better. I suspected he drove me just a bit too hard for some mysterious reasons only he and Prior Hlam knew--but I started to learn obedience and did not ask questions. It was a new and rather fragile balance, but I hoped in my heart of hearts it was the beginning of something. I no longer felt like he was my utter superior in everything; the image of the perfect aristocratic warrior was replaced with a much more human one that, for one, smiled a little bit more often. And I hoped that maybe he also admitted that just because I was one of the planetouched, it did not mean I walked on water.

Maybe, I say. Occasionally, I still caught him looking at me with an expression I only ever saw on faces of brothers in the Temple after hours spent in prayers.

"I got an idea: your aura makes her itch, she says, right? Maybe if you accidentally sit next to her all evening at supper…" I said, airily.

"A suitably subtle response, I think." I felt my mouth curve up to a wide grin in response to his smile as he said that. I hoped I did not look like a sixteen-year old.

That smile was still on my face as we walked up the three wooden stairs to the house where, as the guards in front verified to our query, Haeromos Dothwintyl, First Captain of Port Llast had his offices. At first I did not quite comprehend the expression on their face. I thought they were grim and curt because, as or ship's captain explained during our brief voyage, Luskan posed a continuous threat, coveting this exceptionally well-placed harbor for their military vessels. But all became almost painfully clear as upon entering said office we immediately got confronted by its sole occupant, a heavyset, fully armored man with sandy beard and thinning hair. He rose from behind a dark oak table set by the side of a large fireplace, his pale eyes regarding me with contempt.

"First Captain Haeromos?" I asked, part of that smile still on my face.

"I'm surprised you have the courage to show your face here." He almost spat the words. "Yes, I am the First Captain." he added, as he looked me up and down. "At least you left off the armor; not that it would intimidate me."

"Why…why do you say that?" It was a while since I experienced such open hostility, and as this was coming from someone who was supposed to aid me in this while mess, it hit me all the harder. It definitely took me aback enough to stumble over my words.

"A lot of people here had friends in Ember. Relatives, even. If they find out who you are…" He did not finish the sentence. Casavir stepped up to stand beside me, and I could instantly feel anger radiating off him like silver-and-blue heat from a fire. He, unlike me, was wearing his full armor, except the helmet, and that armor was etched on the pauldrons with the symbol of Tyr for everyone to see.

It did not escape Haeromos' notice either; I could see thoughts flickering through his face like shadows of leaves on a bright summer day.

"I would not presume guilt where no verdict has been issued yet, First Captain." Casavir said, icy cold. "Or are you saying the Lord of Justice spoke to you about Squire Pendwyr?"

Haeromos might have been quick to anger, but he obviously was a leader of this town for a reason. He brusquely nodded to Casavir, acknowledging him for what he was, and his features relaxed into a somehow less hostile expression.

"Your point is well taken, Sir. For a moment there, I gave in to my anger. Innocents slaughtered, the entire village of Ember burned to the ground - all done by her." He stabbed a finger at me. "My only regret is that Ember falls under Luskan jurisdiction, not mine…" He sighed. "I am assuming you are traveling with her on Tyr's business? "

Casavir hesitated just a second before answering.

"It is a matter of the god that has me by her side, yes."

Haeromos shrugged; it was slow and weary.

"Suit yourself, Sir. You're free to conduct your business here, but you'll be watched. "His eyes were full of thinly veiled disgust and he avoided to look directly into my eyes. "Well, if you have questions, ask them now. I'm a busy man."

He did not offer a seat to any of us. Despite all of this, I forced myself to remain calm and used my most polite voice to introduce my companions. At least _I _wanted to observe all formalities.  
"If you allow me, First Captain: Casavir of Tyr, Mistress Shadra Jerro and the wizard Sand are my companions on this journey; myself, Arrighan Pendwyr, at your service." I bowed: hoping that might help to ease the tension a little bit, or if nothing else, might make Haeromos realize just how badly he conducted this conversation from the start.

He responded with the barest of nods.

I would not have minded if he was rude to me, but insulting everyone else who tried to help me…I flung my cloak open so my own holy symbol became visible and lifted my chin.

"You must understand, First Captain that I am here to clear my name from these allegations." I rested my hand for a second on the silver hammer-and-scales symbol.

His eyes grew wider at that and stepped back, grabbing the back of his chair.

"You…you serve the Just God as well? But…how can that be?" That clearly was a surprise for him; I could see it on his face.

"Yes." I said, calmly. "I serve Tyr just like Sir Casavir here." I leaned towards him a bit. "First Captain: why are you so certain that it was me?"

"There was a witness to the attack." Haeromos said, that zealous certainty clearly wavering. "You were…described in great detail."

A jolt of excitement ran through me, and I felt Shandra's hand on my arm for a second.

"Someone survived, then." I saw a flicker of hope in my companion's eyes. "I want to talk to that person, First Captain, if possible."

"Out of the question!" he said forcefully, lifting his hands as if to ward something off. "She has been through enough." He shook his head. "Besides, you won't like what she has to say."

"First Captain. I need to speak with _all_ witnesses, no matter what they say about me." I said calmly. "We all want justice…for those in Ember who cannot speak any more."

He scratched his beard, and then sighed.

"Very well. You may question the witness, but you shall do it in my presence."

I saw Sand bristle up for a speech, but I lifted my hand, and for once, he remained silent.

"That is acceptable, First Captain. Thank you."

Haeromos rang a small bell from his desk. A soldier entered, wearing a tabard over his scale armor, with the insignia of the city.

"Bring our guest here." he said curtly. The soldier nodded and disappeared; I could hear his heavy footsteps from the corridor through the door he left open. There was a knock on a door not far away, a creak, some muffled talk, then two pairs of feet slowly coming back towards the door…

"Shandra?" The slender young woman standing in the doorway tilted her head to one side, incredulously. "Shandra?? Is that you?" She was wearing clothes that were obviously not her own: too large and cut for a man. Her face was gaunt and her eyes clouded as if she was watching something only visible to her right in front of her eyes—something awful.

I recognized that look. A couple of Wolf's urchins wore it when I first met them; the ones most abused.

"Alaine?" Recognition spread through Shandra's face, with joy following at its heels: it was her friend she spoke to me about." Alaine! You survived!!" She stepped forward, with her arms open. "Oh, thank the gods!"

"Shandra!" She was close to weeping as she run to her, clinging to her neck as if the only sure point in the universe was determined by the space between Shandra's cold breastplate and vambraces. "It was terrible! They butchered everyone! Mom and Dad…"

"Alaine…it's all right…Shhh…" Shandra made small comforting noises, slightly rocking the younger woman--girl, really, she could not have been more than eighteen. "Look, I've brought people to help." One of her hands moved from Alaine's shoulder to encompass all of us standing there. "We'll get to the bottom of t--…"

That's how far she got before Alaine noticed me standing there and here eyes filled up with dread.

"You!" she breathed, and then went still, almost rigid, in start contrast to the shaking of just a moment ago. "Shandra, it's-it's…_her_! Why would you bring her here?"

"But she was not…" Shandra started to say with clear bewilderment on her face.

"Alaine." I said as gently as I could; I tried speaking with the quiet dignity Aevan always did. "I am not responsible for what happened at Ember."

"I saw you murder those people." She was deadly serious, I could see it. This was madness.

"No, Alaine, it's not true…" Shandra said weakly; she still held her around the shoulder, as if that body contact was all that kept the younger woman from collapsing.

"I know what I saw, Shandra." The girl shook my companion's arm off; she started trembling again. Here eyes were huge, and there was almost no pupil to see. "They had no weapons…some ever surrendered, but she…she…"

"Alaine, for the gods' sake, listen to me!" Shandra raised her voice a bit.

_Careful_, I thought. _Oh, be very careful…she is half-mad from shock and grief; don't drive her over the edge…_

"Be careful, Shandra." Casavir warned, echoing my exact thoughts. "Alaine here went through a lot…her behavior is understandable." He looked at the girl, who stared at him in turn with open wonderment, lips slightly open, quieted by the sight: a knight of the God of Justice in shining armor and with the looks of an ancient statue. "Alaine…" he continued, and his rumbling voice sounded even more deep somewhat, with undercurrents of power I could feel in my stomach."…Please understand, we are here to help you, not hurt you. That I swear, by Tyr's name."

_Oh, he is good. _The effect of that on the girl was significant: she started to visibly calm down, and her shaking stopped. Casavir smiled at her with a gentleness I always suspected he possessed. I breathed a sign of relief.

"That's right, Alaine." Shandra whispered, softer this time. "We're here to help, all right?"

Casavir stepped closer, reached out gently, very gently, and lifted Alaine's chin so she looked into his eyes. I watched intently; a trained Tyr paladin's ability to calm and charm was something to behold. I remembered how Aevan was always able to curb my temper and frustration--now I even recalled him using the exact same tone of voice.

"Just tell me what you saw, Alaine." Casavir said; I could feel his blue-and-silver aura enfolding the girl like a soothing blanket. His eyes and his fingers on her chin kept her anchored and standing up, as she steadied herself and started to talk, finally, about that day when her world ended.

"It was trade season, and the shipments into Ember had fallen off... I decided to trade along the South Roads. "

I remembered what Shandra said, that her friend was doing some trade runs too. She must have started early, or, most likely, she was helping out someone, maybe her parents.

"When I came back to Ember, I heard the screams and saw the smoke. I left my wagon and went into town. That's when I saw the bodies…"

She broke off for a second, and some of the trembling was back.

"I saw her kill the quartermaster while he was on his knees, begging for his life."

"You saw this woman, here, do the killing blow? " Sand, who was until now quietly in the back, leaning against the wall, now spoke up, with something resembling eagerness on his face. "And was it just her? And where did she…"

I turned, slightly appalled by this interruption.

"Sand!" hissed Shandra angrily.

"We don't have all year, girl, nor do I have the patience when the trail of these killers grows colder." he shot back at her, angrily. I received a cold stare from him.

"Were any of my companions there?" I asked her. I hated it, but Sand was right. I got this one chance to ask her questions, and I was not sure how long her strength will last, even with Casavir standing there and Shandra half-embracing her still.

"Oh, there were others, but I didn't see them closely." Alaine whispered, more to those two than directly answering me. "All armed and armored, all walking around, with blades…I ran as hard as I could to Port Llast." She lifted her head and looked at Haeromos, who watched the whole exchange in utter silence, his arms crossed in front of his chest, his face unreadable. "And they took me in."

Then she looked back at me, and that feel of frozen wastelands and chilling winds was back.

"But _you _did do it." She turned away from Casavir and buried her face in Shandra's shoulder.

Sand pushed himself off from the wall of the office and walked closer, his wizard's robes whishing around his ankles. He had a little smile on his face that I did not care for at all.

"Or someone that looked the part, child - there are _many_ magics that can cloak one's appearance... even allow one to change shape."

I started to understand why he was sent with me, then, and with it, I acquired another, profound insight into the depths of high politics in Neverwinter. That wizard was cold, and calculating, and sharp, and nothing distracted him. I did not have to like it; just had to let him do his job that Nevalle and Nasher ordered him to do. I slapped myself, figuratively speaking, for not even considering the possibility of someone magically impersonating me. Now that Sand mentioned it, it was, of course, more than probable, and by conjunction, the simplest explanation to why Alaine so stubbornly insisted that it was me she saw there. I guess my mind still refused to comprehend the gravity of the situation.

"I know what I saw. You had about a dozen of your friends with you. "Alaine said, in a weak little voice, peeking over Shandra's shoulders at me with those almost-dead eyes. It was as if she used her as a shield, keeping her between us.

"A dozen, you say?" drawled Sand. "Interesting. Do go on."

It was time for me to wake up and do something else than just stand and let others carry me through. I finally found my voice.

"So you didn't see a dwarf? A gnome? A half-demon girl?" I asked. Sand nodded at me, as if to say: 'well, good morning, sunshine'.

Alaine blinked

"No. I believe they were all human."

"Well, considering that those account for at least half of our leader's merry little band, that might seed some doubt." Sand said firmly. "Anyone in Neverwinter can vouch that she is never seen without at least two of those by her side."

"But you could just have hired others." Alaine said, hesitantly.

"Yes, my dear... "Sand rubbed his palms together. "But, as your hesitation suggests, why would anyone do that, when they have trusted allies who would follow one anywhere, despite their common sense? Eh... no offense." he added, to me.

"No problem, Sand. "I whispered back in the same tone. "But there is something else that you need to consider, Alaine." I addressed her again, still gently. "Have you given a thought to how did you manage to get away if you got close enough to identify me?"

"I... don't know. I just started running. I guess they didn't notice me?" You could see the frozen horrors behind her eyes retreat a little. Good. She was thinking again.

"You were lucky, hmm?" Sand smiled like a sea predator closing in on a sailor trashing in the water; gray-and-white fins and blinding white rows of teeth. "Or perhaps, they _let_ you escape? So you can be a convenient survivor and the only witness?" He swirled in his robes and tapped my arm. "Listen to me, Arrighan... if we can get her to work for us, her story of tears will sway the court in our favor." He was excited; just like those sea predators, he also could apparently smell something even from the faintest hint of it.

"Alaine's not some tool, Sand!" Shandra said, incredulously. "You cannot just simply pick her up and put her down when needed... she's just survived the massacre of her town, for the gods' sake!"

"Which someone caused to get to us, don't forget." Sand made a dismissing motion with his hand. "Girl - if we do not use your friend, the Luskans will. And they will use her testimony to kill our friend, here." His voice held no mercy. "So... please, dispense with your convenient morality. Either _we_ use her, or _they_ do."

"Enough." My voice was hoarse. Everyone looked at me. "Enough." I repeated, more forcefully this time. Sand took a step backwards. "She has been through enough. I don't want to make her a target. "I looked at Casavir. "I cannot have someone else suffer for what is mine to bear."

"Good." sighed Shandra, hugging Alaine closer to her protectively. "Glad to hear _someone_ here is making some sense... "Then, with a fierce look at Sand: "Leave her alone, Sand, I mean it."

"Ah, forget it, then." Sand puckered up his lips with clear disgust. "I can't help this matter if you won't heed my counsel... maybe you will when you're hanging from the gallows, twisting in the wind."

"I understand, Sand." I said quietly. "But you also need to understand something. This is who I am. This is what I am. I cannot use people like that. That would just make me similar to those who want to blame me for this." I took a deep breath, turning back to Alaine.

"Alaine, just one more question: Don't you think it's a possibility that it was someone else, disguised as me?"

This took a lot out of me, more than I thought. My headache returned with a vengeance, ramming back into the center of my forehead with the force of a sledgehammer. I felt myself losing balance and the world careened out of focus for a second; then a steady steel-clad arm slid around my shoulders and I felt secure on my feet again, acutely conscious of the way Alaine regarded me with Casavir supporting me, in an odd counterpart to her and Shandra's pose.

Something moved behind her eyes, and she tilted her head sideways for a bit.

"I... suppose it's possible, but... "There were tears, slowly welling up in her eyes, at last. I was praying that they would come to her. She needed them. "I don't know. I just don't know."

"Thanks for considering it, at least." I whispered.

"You're... welcome. "she said, surprised by the fact that for a moment, she stopped thinking about that night. I could hear her original voice now, the one that belonged to a dutiful and serious eighteen-year-old girl, the one that was not tainted by memories of blood, screams and fires. "Is there anything else you need from me?"

I shook my head carefully; it felt as if any sudden move and it would split.

"Thanks for your help, Alaine."

A last hug to Shandra, and she was gone: no doubt glad to be rid of our presence. This was beyond painful to even imagine, and I hoped she could, in time, learn to live with the memories. I wished if I'd known any Ilmater priests so I can ask them to visit her and bring her some peace.

Haeromos watched her go, his eyes flickering between her and where I stood, supported by Tyr's steel-clad servant.

"So…you really _are_ serving the Even-handed…" he murmured, halfway between question and statement.

I closed my eyes for a second, relief suffusing my limbs—he believed us, then. I must have stumbled a bit, too, for real, because I felt Casavir's arm tightening under my shoulder.

'We should go, my lady. "he murmured into my ear, so close I felt my hair tickled by his breath. "You are unwell."

"I'll be fine." I answered back, but stayed where I was. It felt good, being there. "I was marked at birth to His service, First Captain." I answered Haeromos, meeting his eyes squarely.

"She speaks the truth, Haeromos." Casavir said formally. "So I testify."

The wide shoulders covered by scale mail sagged, the barrel-shaped chest heaved a sigh: Haeromos sat down heavily in his chair and waved at us.

"You do…sit down, please, do. It seems that I…was gravely misled about the nature of this crime." He grabbed at his beard as if he wanted to tear it out. "But how can it be…?" he was almost shouting. "If you truly are Tyr's…how can you be accused with this…? And how can they spread those lies so well that even I believe…?"

"Luskan is a threat to you, isn't it, First Captain?" I carefully and somehow reluctantly disengaged myself from Casavir and sat into the chair on the other side of his desk. I felt cold, despite the fire burning in the fireplace.

"Of course. The Luskans would lay claim to our harbor for their warships. Having secured such a prominent location, they could mount a swift attack on Neverwinter - or Waterdeep, for that matter." His words gradually grew angrier. "They talk of a peaceful coexistence, but I know their words to be false. Luckily, Luskan's... difficulties with Ruathym may have come at a fortunate time." he added, a bit ruefully. "As long as they are at war with their island neighbor, they cannot turn their attention elsewhere. Why the question?"

"I am getting to that." I turned to Sand. "Master Sand, if you will: did you uncover the name of the Master of the Fifth Tower…the Luskan mage who is so persistent in trying to kill me?"

"Why, I am surprised you even remember." Sand said, pensively.

"When it is lives at stake, Sand, mine not the last amongst them, I do not jest." I said, somewhat sharp. "Answer the question, please."

"Sure, _Squire_ Pendwyr." "He stressed the title before my name and shrugged. "His name, according to my sources, is Black Garius. A somewhat unimaginative name, if you ask me. Never the less…"

"First Captain, you seem to be well-informed about Luskan matters. What do you know about Black Garius?" I was in desperate need of information, and it overrode all other concerns momentarily. I felt like a huge and invisible hand was pushing me forward relentlessly, on a path entirely unknown to me, but I did not dare to resist.

"Why, he is a Luskan archmage of some power." he said thoughtfully. "Not someone you want to cross. Like many of the Arcane Brotherhood, Black Garius aspires to rule, regardless of what harm it may cause. "He grew quiet for a bit, then continued. "I think you will find that attitude common among most of the Hosttower... and Garius in particular. What worries me is that he may succeed."

_That's why he rules this town_, I thought. And that's why Nasher loaned him soldiers for decades to bolster his own small militia. The man, once not blinded by emotions, had the clear and organized mind of an astute politician who first and foremost cared for his own people, second about all of those in need, and who saw an enemy for what they were.

"What makes you think so?" I asked, pinching the bridge of my nose between two fingers the way Daeghun taught me to help with the headache. "That he succeeds, that is."

"He's amassing power at a pace I dislike. I suspect his brothers are beginning to grow wary of him."

"Well, if he keeps calling himself the master of the Fifth Tower…"murmured Sand. I understood. Like he told me before, Luskan had four towers, each ruled by a magelord of incredible powers. To style yourself as the fifth most likely was seen as an open challenge to them.

"Followers flock to his side like vultures to a battlefield." Haeromos nodded, confirming my suspicions that Garius would definitely be seen as a threat to the rest of Luskan's powers. "Two in particular keep me awake at night." he sighed. "Rumors place both of them passing Port Llast in the near past."

"Which two?" I asked.

"One of them is the woman Torio Claven." Haeromos said.

"The Luskan ambassador to Neverwinter?" I exhaled loudly. "She is the one who accused me of this mass murder, First Captain."

"Ah, and so the pretty little circle reveals itself." Sand sighed; he sounded less surprised than I expected, but maybe that was something he learned during his long life. "Can you see now, First Captain?"

"A treacherous snake, that one." Haeromos shuddered. "If this web is hers, it will be hard to escape it, Squire." He looked at me with a much more open expression on his face. "I still cannot believe that she thinks her accusations can stand in court against a Tyr paladin's words."

"Sand here thinks they will pull the fallen-from-grace card." I told him.

He picked up on the implications immediately; despite our difficulties in the beginning, I started to like this man.

"Well, they could only do that, if at the same time they accuse your companion here…" Haeromos murmured a curse under his breath and sharply looked at Casavir. "I don't suppose the Luskans would be right playing that card, now?"

"Treacherous snake.." supplied Sand from the background, helpfully.

"Ye-es. I suppose not." The First Captain of Port Llast leaned back in his chair. "Just wondering how deep the roots of this go; I would not want to be doubly fooled."

"We are what we say we are." said Casavir coolly. "Do you require a formal oath, my lord?"

"That would not be necessary." Haeromos smiled, thinly. "I met plenty people in my trade as a stonemason before I became this town's elected leader. I like to think I can judge someone once I met them and you…"he pointed at Casavir, "_you_ are the real thing, sure enough. If you say she is one of the sisters of the order, and the other side who's accusing her is Luskan in the allegiance of a known mage who would not blink twice from shaping someone to an other's likeness…well, I am inclined to believe you."

"What a relief." Sand murmured.

_Indeed. However, Haeromos very carefully left me out of the equation, which means that somehow he still has doubts,_ I thought.

"I see." Casavir nodded. "Thank you, my lord." He tapped his chin with one finger: that by now was familiar sight, one of those very few aristocratic eccentricities he preserved from his past. "You mentioned two allies of this Garius, though…?"

"Ah, yes." Haeromos said. "The other one is a giant of a man. Lacks Torio's guile, but compensates for it with brute force. Hard not to recognize: wears pelts and furs, he's tattooed all over his face, not a single hair; he even had his eyebrows shaved off." He scratched his beard. "Goes by the name of Lorne."


	17. Lacrimae Mundi

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**Disclaimers:**

**1.English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections; I give my due thanks to those who already have done so.**

**2.This chapter is definitely rated M for the description of violence and death. If you are uncomfortable with dealing with scenes of mass murder, please use your own discretion when you proceed.**

**3.The music I listened to while writing included _Tears of the World (Lacrimae Mundi_) from Angels of Venice from their album _Angels of Venice_, _Night of the Long Knives _from the soundtrack of the movie _Elizabeth_; and _Light and Shadow _from Vangelis' _1492-The Conquest of Paradise _soundtrack. .**

**4.I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… Arrighan is entirely my fault, though.**

**Chapter Seventeen**

We could all smell it well before we actually arrived.

Despite the weather being colder, the stench of death was covering the fields to the south from where we approached. Lorra stopped dead in her tracks, tossing her head and trembling, refusing to continue. I had to dismount and whisper to her for minutes before we could go on, and the others' mounts did not fare much better. Casavir's Elbriel was the most disciplined: I figured the great warhorse had seen enough death previously.

Elanee tapped my shoulder. Her lips were pressed into a thin, determined line as she handed me one of her linen handkerchiefs. I saw she already distributed similar pieces around the other members of our party; everyone was busy tying them in front of their nose and mouth. The linen was scented with the sharp, pungent oils of rosemary, holy basil and juniper—I saw her picking the little vials of oil up from Nya, the Port Llast herbalist but did not know their purpose until now. I whispered thanks to her and followed their example, before we continued on the narrow path through the untended field, towards the burned remains of a village once called Ember.

I pulled to a halt right before the first house and got off Lorra. The stench was stronger here, even worse than the one in the githyanki caves. That I could only smell on an other plane, although it affected my mind badly. This one was all too real: the stench of fire, soot, the decay of charred bodies, blood and gruesome death.

"Best to leave the horses here." I said. My voice sounded flat and muffled under the cloth covering my mouth. "I don't think they will go any further."

I faced the group. Grobnar was on his knees next to his pony, heaving up his breakfast, face red, eyes bulging and rimmed with tears from the contractions that shook his body. Neeshka was white as a bedsheet, her freckles and her crimson eyes stood out at stark contrast in that paleness, her hands balled into fists as she took steady breaths to calm herself. I could see Khelgar holding her arm with surprising gentleness to keep her upright. The dwarf's face was grim but he looked solid like a centuries-old oak tree. Elanee was busying herself calming our horses and guiding them a bit away to the side of the field where they could find grazing under a copse of maples and cottonwood. There were still some leaves on the trees, brilliant red and yellow, and they stood in stark contrast to the devastation that was laid out before our eyes.

Nothing moved, nothing stirred; no sounds, save the tinkling of our horses' harnesses, and Grobnar's labored breathing.

"It's…"Shandra came up next to me, wrapping her cloak around her body as if it would shelter her from what was to come. "I was just traveling through here last season…"

She pointed with a slightly trembling hand towards the center of the village. "There…there was the quartermaster's house I always had to check in. And Alaine's home…" She vaguely waved towards a closer building, then she clamped her hand in front of her mouth and turned, gagging, as she spotted the first bodies in front of that house. "Oh, gods…"

"It is easier if you try _not_ to see." Casavir stepped up next to her, but his words carried enough so all of us could hear. "Let your eyes slide out of focus; don't try to take it in."

I was grateful for that advice—for what I had to do here, I needed every bit of resolve in me. I was never squeamish, or prone to fainting—if you had been in fights as often as I had to since harvesttime, that was out of the question. But these people were left out where they fell…

He continued, his eyes moving around, addressing me now.

"We'll probably be able to tell more as we move further in, my lady, but whoever did this, went about it with a certain efficiency that tells me they were professionals. I see some animal carcasses over there in that corral…oxen and maybe a horse. One or two villagers by them, just outside." He shielded his eyes from the sun as he surveyed the outskirts of the village. "None of them with any weapons…. I'd say the attackers struck at night…"

"Sharp eyes for a human." Sand joined our group. "They wear what once might have been nightgowns, so I'd agree."

"Secured the perimeters, and then moved in. "Casavir nodded. There was a line between his brows as he concentrated. "Must have driven the rest of the people in front of them…there's likely to be more bodies towards the center. I'd expect to see it the same way on the other end of the village as well. I need to see more before I can tell for certain, but for now I'd say two groups--for this size of village, if they were trained, which I suspect, no more than a dozen. Ruthlessly efficient, but precisely done. "

"In other words, suspiciously like Luskan work." Sand nodded. "Very well: how do you want to go about it, Arrighan?"

"I'll take the packhorse with the canvas." I said, steeling myself. "Elanee—they must have had a cemetery somewhere, if you can find that, it would be best for the burial." She nodded, holding Lorra's reins. "Take the shovels and start the graves once you have it: the rest of you, help her. Sand—with me. I need your eyes and senses to find whatever evidence we need, and the less we disturb this place the better."

I saw Khelgar wanting to say something.

"No, Khel." I shook my head. "This is unhallowed ground, the whole village. I would not have any one of you trod it unnecessarily. Remember what Nya said…now that we are here, I can feel that she was right."

Full moon was a couple of days away. I could still see the harrowed expression on the Port Llast woman's face in her crowded little shop smelling of pungent wyrmsage and bitter juniper.

"_If their bodies aren't tended, they'll return as undead. It is only a matter of time. I've not been to Ember since the massacre. But I've heard that the bodies are rotting where they fell."_

"_They have not been…given final rites?" I was rather shocked by that. "Why?"_

_Her voice was bitter._

"_Ember is in Luskan territory, and the Luskans haven't bothered. Not that I'd expect anything less from them."_

_The amount of resentment amongst the citizens of this town concerning their northern neighbor was rather alarming, I had to reflect for a moment._

_Nya glanced around and lowered her voice._

"_Surely you can see that this is a crime! Those corpses mustn't be left to rot, nor should innocent souls be condemned to torment."_

_I nodded. She eyed my holy symbol, and Casavir's, then she spoke again, hesitantly:_

"_Perhaps... perhaps you could help? You seem a hearty sort..."_

I touched the little pouch on my belt now, as I looked into Khelgar's worried brown eyes. It held Nya's wyrmsage powder mixed with other herbs and reagents the precise nature of which she did not elaborate on, but which, she assured me, were sufficiently powerful to put Ember's massacred population to rest. Sand, naturally, had his—loudly voiced—doubts, but even he could not argue with the fact that those bodies needed funeral rites.

"Casavir and I will go in and…perform the necessary rites." That's why we had the canvas, loaded up on the packhorse we brought with us. I purchased as much as I could find; we spent our evenings traveling cutting it up for shrouds. We had no cleric amongst us, but Casavir and I cast blessings on them hoping it would help. "That way, if anything goes awry, there's less chance that any of you gets in harm's way. Besides…the smell is bad enough as it is, right here." I added in a lowered voice, taking Khelgar's arm and leading him a bit further from where the rest of them huddled. "I need you to keep them together, Khel…I am not sure any of them knew what they got into when they volunteered. Elanee will be fine once she gets over the first shock…she is an elf, and Nature's daughter, she will soldier on, but Neeshka and Grobnar and Shandra…" I shook my head. "Can you do that for me, please?"

My oldest traveling companion looked at me with narrowed eyes for a second, then nodded.

"Aye, lass…for ye, I can." He patted my arm. "I'll look out for them, and put them to work too, never fear." He slung his axe forward on his shoulder. "Best be on yer way, then. The sooner you sanctify those bodies before sunset, the better…you're right, this place doesn't feel right, even with the sun up."

"I agree." Casavir already had the packhorse's rein in his hand. I did not even have to ask if he was coming with me; from all of us, he had the most experience with this type of situation. Post-battle cleanup was something he had to do a lot of times at Old Owl Well, he explained to me last evening. "Lead on, my lady."

I have seen a fair number of ugly things since I got out of West Harbor. Amongst them, the room full of bodies in various states of decomposition in the orc chief Logram's caves, prepared for some unholy rites by those Shadow Priests he harbored, came the closest to what we faced now. But for all its horror, at the same time, those carefully arranged, symmetrically placed corpses so obviously put there well after their death did not effect me half as bad as all that we saw that day in Ember.

The animals in that first pen were simply had their throats cut: the bloated, blackened carcasses should have attracted scavengers, and yet, there were none. Whoever butchered this village left such dread in their wake that now, almost two weeks after their hideous deed, no crows, ravens, or vultures flew, no other animal that occasionally feasted on dead flesh stirred.

I am not ashamed to admit that I threw up whatever I had in my stomach at that first house, the one Shandra identified as Alaine's. As far as I could tell, it was a middle-aged couple in their nightshirt and -gown: the man had his head removed from his neck with one single blow that made it land almost two feet from the body. The woman's stomach was slashed open--I only glanced, but made the mistake to focus on her face, and the growing nausea's last wave broke through my self-control. I think I heaved for minutes, longer than little Grobnar just a while back on the fields, doubling over and trying to hold myself from falling on my knees, after I staggered aside behind the burnt-out husk of the house, away from the bodies.

"I did exactly that my first time." came Casavir's voice behind me. I felt his silver-and-blue aura around my own considerably paler crimson-and-red: the two silver edges touched with some sparkling I could feel distantly, as if behind a wall. "It was a small traveling party that the orcs fell upon, a couple of hours out Old Owl Well. My first patrol out of the fort…it was summertime and they'd been dead for a week or so, my sergeant estimated." His cool fingers touched the back of my neck, bringing me back to reality sharply. "There is nothing to be ashamed of, my lady…give yourself time. Sand and I can…"

"No time." I wanted to swear, but the eerie quiet of the entire village made that impossible. I panted, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I tasted bile and despair, but at the same time, I felt something waking up in me, unfolding like giant feathery wings_. I will not give in, _I thought, and that _something _in me echoed faintly the words of one of Tyr's battle-hymns Aevan taught me, the one that starts with _Darkness has no hold/ Shadow has no power/When your might enfolds/ All evil will cower…_

"We have no…time, Casavir." I straightened. "I suppose I should be grateful that it is Uktar and not Summertide. No flies, either."

"Good." he nodded, looking me up and down, with the narrowed eyes of a field commander. "Keep that practical thinking up, my lady. It helps. Now tie that cloth back in, please. "He indicated Elanee's linen handkerchief that I yanked off just in time before I threw up. I obeyed. "And remember: just let your eyes unfocus."

I opened the pouch Nya gave me and squared my shoulders. He pulled on the thick leather gloves he kept in his belt, and I followed his example.

"How do you do it?" I asked Sand when Casavir and I returned to him. He was standing there, no expression other than detached, academic curiosity on his face, hands clasped behind his back. For today, he exchanged his wizard's robes for a roughspun wool tunic and trousers, just like the rest of us. That unusual attire emphasized how relatively frail and thin he was, especially when standing next to Casavir and me, both used to spending entire days in plate armor.

"I do _what_, child?" Sand regarded me with one of his more unfathomable expressions. He tied his long chestnut hair back into a club with a silk ribbon: its shiny luster made a stark contrast with the drab wool and all of our surroundings. "If you are referring to the fact that I am not puking my guts out like some of you, consider my age. I have seen a lot of things during the centuries of my life. Some of them were…not much different from this." He made a complicated hand gesture again, wearing the same type of gloves we had. "Shall we…?"

Ember was probably a scarcely larger village than West Harbor, but obviously more prosperous. All houses were built with strong stone foundations and most of them were stone up to the first floor--so the fire could not entirely collapse them. You could always tell when we neared one where not everyone escaped from the inside: the stench of rotting flesh mingled with another one that, sickeningly enough, was almost pleasing to the nose, one that I always associated with an open-air fire and large cuts of meat. That meant I had to go in, with a couple of canvas shrouds in my hands, to sprinkle the wormseed, murmur a prayer and wrap whatever I found in there in canvas, then carry it out, while Casavir and Sand tended to those who died on the street. Once wrapped, the bodies were laid on a small cart we found in one of the yards that escaped fire. We harnessed the packhorse in front of it so we can transport the villagers of Ember to their final resting place.

"Hold a moment." Sand said suddenly, as he and I were kneeling over a young man's body in front of one of the houses on the main square.

'What's the matter?" I just finished sprinkling the wyrmsage powder, was done with the prayers, eyes out of focus, concentrating on the scent of rosemary and juniper on the cloth in front of my nose, and not on the stench of putrefaction that emanated from the body laying at my feet.

"Look at this. This corpse is… unusually discolored, much different from the usual decay." His gloved fingers reached out; I watched as he traced a line above a gash on the man's discolored tunic. It had been deep-yellow once, dyed with saffron. Expensive for a village such as Ember, but then again, they apparently did a brisk trade in duskwood bows, which fetched a pretty price anywhere on the Sword Coast. "These wounds are superficial - not deep enough to kill." He bent further down; I heard sharp intakes of breath as he sniffed the air. "And the scent…"His brows furrowed in thought. "…coupled with the discoloration of skin here and here…"He pointed to the man's hands, his voice firm. "This man died from poison, and an unusual one at that. "

"Poisoned blade?" I asked, instantly alert. We were supposed to find clues, and this might be one. I reminded myself that apparently the bony elf wizard was a trusted agent of Neville and Nasher himself. "Can you be more specific?"

"I think…"he said slowly; I watched as if hypnotized as he pulled out the slightly curved, small knife he always carried in his left boot, extracted a little leather pouch from his belt and proceeded to remove a sliver of skin from the man's right hand. "I think you'd find this poison amongst the weaponry of some assassin's guilds in a certain northern city…"

"Such as the Circle of Blades, perhaps?" I asked quickly.

He looked at me sharply, knife pausing in mid-motion.

"And how, pray, would you arrive to that conclusion, my dear?"

"One of those who were sent to kill me at the Solace Glade wore a guild ring." I still had it at the bottom of my belt pouch; what with one thing and another I never got to put it somewhere safe.

"I see. " Sand nodded and tucked the pouch with its gruesome content back to his belt. "This sample, I think, will serve as a valuable piece of evidence. There is a preservation spell on the pouch, child, don't fret so!" he said, with raised eyebrows. "I thought you, of all of us, would understand the necessity of this."

"Me?" I unfolded the shroud of canvas over the corpse and made the sign of the sword over him one last time. "Of course I understand, wizard…it is _my _head that is threatened by a noose. I am just not sure I could do what you just did, that's all."

Sand made a rude sound.

"Dear girl, you were elbow-deep in rotting corpses for hours now. Are you worried about a piece of skin? I am merely doing my job. The sooner I put together these pieces, the sooner I can be back in my shop."

"I see." The coldness of that remark did cut deep. I always tried to get along with those I traveled with…even Bishop. Even with him, I tried to maintain a detached civility inasmuch as a paladin of Tyr could. With Sand, I had real difficulties. It's not just that he was an elf; Elanee was too, and somehow, although she always was a bit detached, I never felt the utter alienness of a different species the way Sand set himself above all of our everyday concerns.

Then again, I was not exactly entirely human either. I considered that for a bit while we finished wrapping the man with the yellow tunic and carefully lifting his body, we loaded him on the cart.

"We got the graves dug." Shandra was standing with Casavir by the cart; she still had the shovel in her hand. "Just wanted to let you know. You were right, Arrighan—the cemetery of the village is just over there, by the feet of that rock." She indicated towards the eastern end of the village. "And…"She hesitated, then held up her left hand. "I found this just over there, behind what was the…quartermaster's house." She swallowed. "Next to his corpse, in fact."

"Ah, it seems we've found the Quartermaster's log, I see. "Sand stepped closer, taking it out of Shandra's hands before I could reach out for it. I caught a frown from Casavir, but decided not to intervene. Let the wizard do his job—we can discuss manners later, when our gruesome task was done.

And, frankly, any little break was welcome.

"A little charred, but intact. "Sand held the thick book across the spine, paging through it with his other hand. "Let's see..."

Shandra peeked over his shoulder at the pages covered with spiky handwriting organized into neat columns; date of shipment, name of teamster, origin of shipment, list of goods, stay length, departure, destination, any goods carried while departing…

"He sure did keep a lot of notes…he was always obsessed with recording everything in the greatest possible details."

"Hmmm…" Sand was running his fingers through one page, then flipped to the next, the next…it was almost dizzying to see. I've never seen anyone reading that fast. "It is not as complicated as it seems--in fact, over the past few weeks, it does not look like many shipments actually _came _into Ember."

"Not even from Luskan?" Shandra asked. "That's odd."

Sand tapped a page with his index finger; his face, what I could see above the cloth, assumed that eager expression I've learned to recognize as the one that signified he had caught a clue again.

"Not if Luskan knew there wouldn't be any reason to send shipments anymore…The last shipment came through about a week prior to the attack. There was another one a week and a half prior to that. If I look at the log from two-three months back, they had loads coming in and out almost every second day."

"But that just could have been the season." I interjected. "The rains started early this year."

"Ah, excellent observation!" Sand nodded, one finger raised, as if this was some lecture hall at the Academy in Blacklake, and not a burned-up village with bloated corpses all around us. "It just so happens that I looked at last year's shipments from Luskan in Uktar for comparative purposes here…" he flipped through the pages again in a blur, "and lo and behold, the frequency is rather even all through the year; not seasonal at all." He snapped the book close, with a smug expression on his face. "Which would mean they knew the village would be destroyed--let's save this log book for the trial and see if they can explain their curious foresight."

" By the Gods, who could have _done _this?" Shandra's voice broke over that question like a tree-branch under too much ice and snow. "These villagers, none of them were soldiers... it would have been a massacre, they had no chance to defend themselves…"

"My dear... it _was _a massacre." Sand's arm described a graceful arc that encompassed the square where we stood, the four streets of Ember, all the houses, all the broken-up, blackened and bloated dead. "And, as our leader so rightly said, we have a chance to give them justice. Not to mention final rest." He patted the air just above Shandra's shoulder: his gloves were not fit for touching anyone alive. "Come, child. Let us see what else we can find."

I did not object as Shandra joined the three of us for the final couple of houses; after all, she knew a lot of these people--assisting in giving them the final rites was her right. There was a fierce determination in her eyes over the edge of the scented cloth as she helped us covering the bodies and loading them over and over to the cart after Sand or Casavir led the horse back and forth between the community's cemetery and back.

The very last house was where it happened. There was a large room in the back and the stench heralded what we might find well before Sand or me actually saw the inside.

I was not prepared, though, for what we actually find. I don't think any of us was.

"Oh, gods…" I whispered, after a long silence while staring into the blackened interior, at the small bodies on the floor. "So this is why we didn't find children anywhere else…"

"Someone must have herded them all into this house." Sand shook his head. "Some of _them_." He emphasized 'them' in a way that we all did by now, almost spitting the word, meaning the attackers. "Then locked the door, and set it on fire." He looked at me. "I can do this myself." His voice was surprisingly gentle. "Just give me the pouch."

"They need the prayers, Sand." I sounded strange, even for myself. That feeling was back: great feathery wings unfolding…"I cannot leave."

"I suppose they do." He nodded. "Let me get Casavir here, then. Shandra and I will wait outside." He turned to go; I looked at him…

…and the world itself seemed spinning slower and slower, as the sound of snow-white feathers rustling got louder and louder in my head and everything around me faded into that sound, leaving nothing but the words of that hymn, and something dazzling, silvery and white...

_Darkness has no hold/ Shadow has no power/When your might enfolds/ All evil will cower…_

_Darkness has no hold…_

Whispering rose around me, and melted into a chorus with the feathers' song, as wisps of formless, shapeless smoky tendrils twirled in the air, coiling up from the blackened, twisted forms of what remained of Ember's children…coalescing into shaky and translucent forms with black holes where their eyes should have been, lips pressed into thin lines barely visible. One or two of them clutched little wooden toys, or blankets, or each other's nightgowns.

And all around me, all there was is rustling of feathers, greyness of smoke, tendrils of sadness, and whispering, whispering, whispering…

_They came while we slept_

_They torched our house_

_I saw one of them skewering Shyan like a bug_

_Mom said run_

_Runrunrun_

_They were behind us_

_Always behind us_

_We didn't know where to go_

_Just run_

_Mom…Dad…_

_The door is locked, why is it…_

_There is smoke and fire and we cannot get out_

_Cannot get out_

The closest one reached out and touched my hand; I felt cold seeping through my skin, right into my bones.

_Maimed Hand, blind but sees all/Guide us through storm and despair/Strength that never will fall/Just Lord, hear our prayer…_said the rustle of wings, louder and louder, and yet, I could hear the whisper of the ghost of the child just as clear as if she was still alive and standing next to me, with a white-clad wooden doll in her hand.

_Speak for us…_she seemed to say to me, over the song of the feathers, over the chorus of frantic ghost-cries from her companions. _Speak for all of us…Help us to find rest…Help us to find home…Find them. Find those who did this. Help so we will not be forgotten._

_Under Thy holy shield/No pain and no sorrow/Justice Thy arm wields/Thus riseth tomorrow…_

I felt the touch of those rustling wings upon my skin, as if they covered me from behind…I could almost feel the wind in their wake, warm and full of the scent of cedar and sandal and frankincense, sweeping around me, waking the silver wave of powers in me, rising in an upswelling surge, covering me from the bottom of my soles through the middle of my body, to the crown of my head, spilling out in one blinding, white-silver flash of lightning, as I raised my hand towards those silent ghosts and said, before that white light claimed me:

_I swear…I will._

The next thing I knew, I was on the ground in front of the house, soaked in sweat, shaking like a leaf, clinging to Casavir with my arms thrown around his neck like I was a child lost myself. I was unable to speak, unable to stand or move or do pretty much anything else but cry, and not quietly either. Some little sober part of me was saying this should stop right now, but everything else that was me wanted nothing to do with the world. I was vaguely conscious of my companions around me, some talk, in hushed tones, the clatter of the cart and the dull thud of horse hooves…

"Retribution is mine…" I whispered as soon as my sobs quieted down.

"My lady?"

I lifted up my head and looked at him. He loosened the circle of his arms so I could step back.

"They will pay. Oh, they will pay."

"What happened, my lady?" His blue eyes were worried. "Was there something there that…?"

"All those children, Casavir…" I looked at where the cart was led away by Shandra and Sand, towards the little cemetery. "They were all there." I stepped closer to him again; the warmth of him was like a blazing light in the bleak landscape of sorrow. "The children of Ember…they spoke to me. They showed me their killers. They told me what happened."

I closed my eyes again… _and the image was there…the image of my own, slamming the door on the two dozen or so screaming children…_

_The image of my own interspersed on someone else…faintly as if shimmering through a veil, but clearly visible._

_Almost seven feet, clad in furs, head shaved bald, glistening in the light of the flames that start to lick up the sides of the house, holding a bloody falchion. Tattoos crawling on his neck, chin and forehead, dancing almost obscenely, as he shouts commands to his men loping and darting around the houses like gaunt black shadows, amongst the screaming, fleeing villagers…_

Lorne.

"Retribution is mine and vengeance shall be wrought in my name…" I whispered, my hands balling into fists. "So witness sky, so witness earth. So help me Tyr. I shall seek justice for those murdered in Ember, and I shall not rest until those who did this are brought to justice."

_Lorne_.


	18. You Are The Only One I See

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**Disclaimers:**

**1.English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections; I give my due thanks to those who already have done so.**

**2.For this chapter the following songs were playing lending inspiration_: Andare_ by Ludovico Einaudi from his album _Divenire;_ _Trotto_ from Angels of Venice's _Angels of Venice_ album; and _Stupid_by Sarah McLachlan from _Afterglow._ **

**4.I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… Arrighan is entirely my fault, though.**

**Chapter Eighteen-You Are The Only One I See**

I've never thought Port Llast would ever look good to my eyes, but I must admit, even the _Alliance Arms_, tiny compared to Duncan's_Flagon_, was a welcome sight after weeks in woods, caves, groves and tunnels. Especially since the rain started up again as soon as we spotted the town's first houses.

"A bed again…"Neeshka murmured, stretching a little in the saddle. I caught a couple of the guards on the street watching her doing that, and I smiled faintly.

"That girl will get in trouble…" Khelgar scowled, shaking his head; Neeshka noticed the ogling and stretched again, taking her time doing so. "Then she'll 'xpect us to get her out of it, I bet. Just like with that Leldon fellow."

None of us answered. Not that Khelgar wasn't mostly right, but he was the one who fared the best in our merry little band on this trip. The rest of us were just glad that we are back in civilization. Even Elanee seemed grey and sullen, her eyes overly large in her delicate face, her movements slightly strained as she got off her horse in front of the inn.

"Be right with you." I touched her shoulder as I dismounted. "Just need to…"I tilted my head down the street where Nya's little herbal shop was located.

"I understand." she said softly. "Be careful, and come back soon…you need the rest."

Didn't I know? Ever since that vision I had in Ember, the dead children of the village staring at me with their lifeless eyes, toys in hand, asking me for retribution, I felt like I'd never stop. All of my surroundings I perceived as if covered in a grey-white mist, and if I unfocused for just a second, I could hear whispering and rustling of feathers. My sleep, when finally came, was like plunging into the depths of that well in the middle of Ember's main square over and over again…except that I was usually awaken by my own muffled whimpers, staring into the night with pounding heart and wide eyes. All of my companions walked around me carefully, speaking only when necessary, and I caught them stealing glances that varied from the cautious and worried to pitying and downright alarmed.

Then there was Casavir. I was, under that haze of grey-white blanket of mist, more grateful for him than anyone else. My prayers at dawn and at evening to Tyr started to include his name on a regular basis—it indeed seemed that He sent this black-haired knight along to watch over me in my trials. He stopped asking questions after I failed to answer his first one there in front of that house in Ember, and instead, he was just simply there. I tried to explain some of what happened to him on the first night out of that place, but he stalled me with one of his slow, hesitant smiles that always came as a surprise.

"_I am Tyr's servant too, my lady."_ he said simply. _"I know when He calls."_

When I woke from that nightmare in the middle of the night the first time, he took my companions aside and talked to them for a few minutes. The next camp, he wordlessly spread his bedroll next to mine where Elanee normally slept, and as soon as I closed my eyes, I understood why—his silver-blue aura was glowing around me protectively, through the fog, just enough that I knew it was there. It did not quite stop the dreams from coming--I still woke every night, but when my whimpers subsided, I looked over the edge of my blanket to where he slept, and felt his eyes on me, azure rimmed with silver. More than once, my hand moved as if on its own, my creeping fingers finding his and wrapping themselves around his warm hand-- and some resemblance of normal sleep returned to me for a while.

Now, as I set out down the empty street in the steadily falling rain, my cloak wrapped around me and my armor, I could see from the corner of my eye as he jumped off Elbriel, patted him on the neck a few times, and then, after Elanee took the reins from him without words, he set out after me, with his long, comfortable stride I learned to recognize by now so well.

Nya had a little bell above her door that tinkled as I pushed the door open; she was at her little mixing bench tinkering with a couple of bottles. The scent of the shop this time was much gentler than when I was here last time: chamomile with some lavender.

"Oh!" She looked up at the bell's sound, her slightly slanted eyes wide in surprise. "It's you! Well met again." She hesitated a bit as she took a longer look at me. "Are you…all right?"

I laid the now empty wormseed pouch on her counter, gently.

"I did what you asked. They are all buried in the same cemetery. All the rites were done and the prayers said."

She closed her eyes for a long second; something in her let go, and her face became calmer when she looked at me again.

"Then the people of Ember will rest in place." She touched one hand on my shoulder for a second. "You have a good heart and I thank you." She reached up and clasped something off her neck. "I have kept this amulet all these years. It…" she faltered a bit, "…it belonged to my love, but I think it will suit you well."

I remembered the story she told me the first time we met of her unrequited love for a priest of Kelemvor, the god of the dead. She never told him about how she felt, and when he left the town and never returned, she was unable to find him again. She stayed, lonely and proud, tending to her shop, advising Haeromos on matters arcane, brewing potions for the garrison's wounds--and growing more and more numb around the heart each season when there were no replies to her letters from the Kelemvor chapterhouse whence her love never returned.

My fingers closed around the cool surface of the amulet with its heavy gold chain; the metal had a bluish tinge to it. As it touched my skin, I felt a brief sensation of sparkles prickling my skin: it held magic, and no small amount of that.

"However you use it, I hope it will aid you in your travels." Nya said, with a slight smile.

"Thank you, Nya." I said after a brief silence. The scent of her shop evoked memories of Retta Starling's guest bedroom I spent some nights in. That was a memory I did not care for at this moment. "I'll…have to get going, now. We just arrived back to town and…truth to tell, I need the rest." My tiredness finally washed over me: I slid my hood back on my head. "I will be back though…we could use some of your wares."

With that, I turned out of her shop, with grim determination that I will return to properly thank her when every breath I take does not evoke memories of the person whose son I vowed Tyr's sacred oath to kill.

"Don't ask if I am fine, please." I said to Casavir as he drew up next to me outside. "I'll be fine as soon as I have something to eat, something dry to wear and something warm to wrap myself into."

"Bad memories are easy to wake." he said quietly. I stared at him with astonishment at that. What he said echoed my own thoughts.

"My mother's room smelled just like that all the time." he explained, with that newfound smile of his that was almost apologetic and made him look like he was eighteen again. "Lavender and chamomiles…she never used other scents. I figured when I saw your face that you had something similar in your past."

"Retta Starling's." I said, and that iron control I forced on myself since that day in Ember almost broke. The whispering of feathers got stronger in my head.

He knew _that_ story: I told him earlier, when I still hoped to find Lorne whose face I glimpsed for a minute in the Sunken Flagon's crowded common room one night.

He nodded, but did not press further. I considered telling Father Prior when we got back to Neverwinter that this particular knight of his was worth his weight in gold and the Order was damned crazy for ever letting him go…but then I decided against it. It was, after all, Hlam himself who ordered him to my side, and for that I had to be grateful.

We got back to the _Alliance Arms_ without saying anything else. Falgor, the proprietor greeted us nicely enough as we shook the water off our cloaks, but my eyes searched the almost empty common room, passing over my companions clustering around the fireplace, until they found what they really were looking for. Then I dropped to my knee with open arms, and Marcus, the orphan of Ember we found hiding in that well, run to me and I hugged his starved, scrawny little body to me as tight as I could, lifting him up to the air.

"You made it!" I cried out as I spun around, the grayness of my dreams receding a little. He was clad in nice warm clothes, worn but clean and of good wool—I caught a proud wink from the innkeep and I remembered how Marcus told me Falgor always treated him right when he visited with his foster-parents earlier.

"Of course I did." Marcus said, with all the sincerity of a ten-year old. "It's not that I didn't know the way." He squirmed. "Can I get down now?"

"Sure." I remembered how self-conscious boys at his age could be about hugs; some of Wolf's crew was that way too. "I see you already met the rest of the gang again."

"Master Khelgar says you fought wolves." Marcus turned to Casavir and shook hands with him with the eerie seriousness that returned to his eyes as soon as I let him go. "Is that true, Sir Knight?" he asked, giving everyone their due styling with a meticulousness that was odd to say the least.

"Aye, young Marcus." Casavir nodded. "Them and spiders and werewolves besides."

"Will you tell?" the boy asked, more like a normal child, although the odd, slightly detached lilt in his voice, eerily similar to that of Sand, never quite left. "Later, I mean. I understand that you need to rest now. I have to get back to work too. I help out in the kitchen, mostly, but Falgor likes to have me around when new customers come in."

That made sense. Marcus' gift, the gift of foresight, can prove useful indeed for an innkeeper—might even have explained why Falgor took him in so eagerly.

Now, as I looked at his fine, angular features, the almost-white hair, the pale lavender eyes, I shuddered to remember the way he emerged into view when I was lowered to that dark well-house, into water thigh-deep and stinking of waste and fear.

"_I knew I'd see you again, and you're finally here." _That's what he first said, calm and collected, although he could barely stand. The water was up to his chest as he pushed off the ledge he crouched on when I spotted him.

"_Marcus_!" I recognized him at once. He was the boy who met us when we pursued Shandra's kidnappers through this very village…the boy who foretold the fate of Ember.

"_Are you all right?"_ I reached out and he came to me, taking my hand and looking up at me with his eyes that were a paler version of my own. His other hand held a dagger that was familiar, too, the weapon that I ordered Bishop to give him when we met the first time.

"_I am hungry_. "he said. "_There was some bread I grabbed and then I used the dagger and got…rodents and stuff._ "He shrugged. _"But I am okay, I guess."_

"_We'll get you something to eat soon."_ Not that I could even think about food right now. We were almost done with gathering the bodies and did our last sweep through the village before heading to the cemetery for the rites, when Sand and Elanee both heard the scraping noises from the well. _"Marcus, it…it all happened like you said."_

"_Yes. Men came. When I saw them, I knew they were the ones who would kill everyone. There was no place for me to hide except in the well."_ I slid an arm around him and he shivered slightly as he pressed his face to my waist and continued. "_There were twelve of them, I think. They had dark armor, and... One of them looked like you." _He looked up at me, and there was that eerie confidence in his voice, the one that made his eyes almost sparkle. "_But when I really focused on her, she started to look different. I saw a man instead who was big and mean, like an ogre, but bald."_

_Lorne._

"_Marcus, oh gods, you were down here the entire time? I am so sorry you had to go through that!" _I smelled the sour stink of his tendays' long stay here, and I fought back the horror I felt.

"_Me, too."_ He nodded. _"I wasn't sure if I'd survive like I thought I would. I… watched them kill all the people. "_He swallowed, and those eyes, so much like mine, bore into me as he whispered._ " I... didn't want to, but it felt important for me to see what happened, so I could tell you."_

"_So you can tell me…?"_ The whisper of the wings was back for a moment, hovering at the edge of my consciousness. _"Why?"_

"_It was important."_ he said impatiently. "_**He** told me…" _The boy shook his head, slowly and like a much older man. "_You will know when the time comes."_

Marcus did not want to stay with us until we completed the rest of our search for evidence. He remained just until we finished the rites in the cemetery, his fouled clothes exchanged for the smallest shirt and trews scavenged from Grobnar's spares, standing between Neeshka and Shandra as Casavir and I chanted the prayers over the long grave in which we laid Ember's entire population to rest. He solemnly repeated the 'so be it's with the others, and when asked, he walked, along with us, by the line of canvas-wrapped bodies, sprinkling the first fistful of soil back to the grave as the only one amongst us who knew all of them and lived there.

Then, after accepting some food from Elanee's hands, he took off for Port Llast, assuring all of us with the calm, competent courtesy of someone three times his age that he'd be fine, he knew the way, and that he'd meet us at the Alliance Arms where we had been numerous times before.

"He's clearly gods-touched, that child." Casavir said now, looking after him as the boy bounced towards the kitchen, stopping only to accept a tousle of his hair from Khelgar on his way. "I am glad he survived."

"And so am I." I sighed, feeling the tension leaving my limbs to a considerable degree. "I am hoping when this is all over…maybe we can find him a better place to live than as an inn's kitchen boy."

"I might have a word with Father Prior, if you wish, my lady." he said, thoughtful. "He clearly would be well-suited to serve Tyr, and orphans always receive good care from the Even-Handed."

"That might be best, and I would thank you for it. But I am afraid we need to wait until after my trial is over." I indicated Sand, who was sitting by the fire with his feet up on a stool, paper, quill and inkwell on a tray in his lap, absorbed in taking notes of what I assumed was our clue-finding journey. "The wizard wishes to call him as a witness, and what with us two, the chapterhouse is already more involved than it should be."

"True." He inclined his head towards our companions. "It is getting late, my lady. Do you wish to retire or will you have supper with us here? For sure the lady Elanee would have arranged for both the rooms and food."

I would have loved nothing else but to dive under the huge down duvets the _Arms_ offered in its guest rooms, but wasn't nearly finished for the day. So I accompanied him to the fire, accepted a mug of hot cider from Elanee who told me quietly that yes, room arrangements have been made, my gear is up in the room already, Falgor has dinner preparations well under way, and that the person I was looking for was sitting in the corner of the common room quietly sipping on her drink.

"Calindra?" I tapped her shoulder slightly, and she startled to see me standing right there. "You remember me?"

"Of course." Her southern accent was soft and her eyes were sad. "Tyr's paladin, the one I met a week ago here." She indicated the chair across from her. "Please, sit. You look like you just returned from the wild…I saw your companions coming in early but…"She made a helpless little move with her hand and her voice trembled a little. "Do you have any news about Bradbury?" she named her partner in the stone mining business she run and who was late for their meeting the first time I talked to her.

This was the part I hated the most; she saw the rest of my party returning, and she sat there, waiting, hoping that I might be just behind, with the one she was waiting for.

"I am sorry, Calindra…"I looked at her, squarely meeting her eyes: there was no way around this. I fumbled around in my belt pouch and found what I was looking for, pulled it out and placed it on the table between us. "I'm sorry to say that he's dead. I found his body inside a cave in the Duskwood." Her body went very still, and a new line appeared next to her mouth, trembling a little. "I brought you his ring. It felt like… you needed it."

"How many times did I tell him? Brawn should always be tempered by caution and wisdom." Her voice was flat and without emotions. She picked up the ring and started turning it between her fingers; it was a simple band of gold with an almost perfectly oval black opal set in it.

"I'm sorry for your loss." I offered tentatively. She nodded, but her eyes were on the ring.

"We who carve and cut stone are well-acquainted with loss. Always quickly, it comes... a fall of rocks, a misplaced step. But you are kind to offer comfort." That measured, cool and even voice broke a bit. "How…how did he die, you know?"

"He was at the wrong place at the wrong time, Calindra…"I did not know a delicate way to say this, so I decided on being frank. This woman, working with stones all her life, would not have it otherwise. "He met up with two werewolves on the cliffs above Duskwood Grove."

She looked at me, then, with some life returning to her eyes.

"And they are…?"

'They are no longer, Calindra." I absently rubbed my side where one of them managed to catch me with a paw a size of a dinnerplate. Paladins are immune to lycanthropy, but it still stung like nine hells. "And you? What will you do now?"

Those lines deepened into a frown by her mouth; she was no longer young, but strong and limber, and, from what I could see at our first meeting, full of life. This should not have been like this. I remembered how she described Bradbury at our first meeting: _"his hair is bright orange - like flameblooms in the desert."_

"Without Bradbury, I do not know." Her fingers closed over the ring with finality. "I will… stay here for a time, I suppose and look for work. Port Llast is famous for its quarries. If I find nothing, I will have no choice but to return alone to Amn, and to my father's employ."

"I know it's a small consolation, but…if I hear of any suitable opportunities, I will be sure to tell you." I was not sure where, really, but maybe somehow Haeromos could be persuaded, or someone in Neverwinter, especially with all the rebuilding going on.

"For that, I would be doubly grateful." Calindra said, rising from her seat. "If you forgive me, I shall go now. "I watched as she slipped Bradbury's ring on her finger, right above a plain gold band with no decoration at all, save a little clamp in the form of a crow's foot. The opal's lower part slid over that seamlessly, joining the two bands as one. Her face was a closed, guarded gate now, walled and not to be approached; she nodded one last time, and walked away, towards the stairs leading to the guest rooms.

"So what was that for, lass?" Khelgar asked as I got back to our little group. He, as usual, looked happy and content with a frothy mug of Falgor's home brew.

"You remember Calindra, right?" I asked, shaking my head to his offer of his drink.

"The miner lass, aye." Khelgar furrowed his brow. "She was the one lookin' for that red-headed fellow, wasn't she? The one than ran afoul of those two werewolves, right?"

"Poor girl." Neeshka chimed in, barely suppressing a yawn. "Must have been awful, learning about it." She leaned closer to me and mouthed silently. "_He-is-holding-a-chair-behind-you-go-and-sit-with-him-right-now._"

"Huh?" I learned to read from mouth, I just wasn't sure I understood it. Who was she talking about?

"Tell me." I murmured. "I was the one who had to break it to her." With that, I turned as casually as one can when in armor and on the verge of exhaustion.

"Oh." I said, and then. "Thank you…"

"I…thought if you don't retire right away, perhaps…perhaps you care for supper?" Casavir said, holding out a chair, exactly like Neeshka said. "Falgor says there is some venison stew and the bread is fresh from the oven."

"Bread." I sighed and sat down. "I think that wins." I rubbed the bridge of my nose to stay awake. "I can hardly be called good company lately, but thank you, I will stay."

He was right; the food calmed my stomach and my nerves, and after the second mug of hot cider the worst of the tension remaining after that conversation with Calindra was gone too. By the time Falgor brought out a plum tart his wife made (he turned red as a beetroot when Neeshka jumped up from where she sat with the others and gave him a resounding kiss on the cheek), I could even smile.

"I know this will just enhance your reputation as a know-it-all, but you were right again. I feel much better." I told Casavir as I pushed the empty plate away. "Not that I would think that you are…" I bit my lip. There I was again, making a complete fool of myself, and right in front of him, too.

He smiled back, thank the gods. His entire face transformed when he did that, almost as if a statue came to life. _One of these days I'll get a really wide grin out of him too, and then I'll learn whether he dimples or not_, I thought fleetingly. We had some tentative conversations, spiked with giggles about that with Shandra and Neeshka back on the _Halueth's Pride_ in one of my non-pukey moments, and Neesh vouched for dimples. I tended to agree, even though I was mildly scandalized by the fact that we were even discussing something like that.  
"I think I know what you mean, my lady." He looked around and continued, in a softer voice. "I noticed that the locals are much friendlier than they were during our first visit, I wonder if someone sent word around…?"

"You mean the First Captain had time to think?" I leaned back in my chair and surveyed the common room. "I think you are right. We got none of those stares we had last time, I don't see anyone muttering conspicuously in the corners, and, which is the most important thing, none of the garrison soldiers tried to pick a fight and kill me. "I nodded towards two of the soldiers who were quietly having a beer at the _Arms'_ old and worn bar. I chuckled, remembering something else. "Oh, and Elghun isn't here either, which is a blessing, surely."

"The better for him that we exposed his tall tales, my lady." he muttered, face turning darker for a second. "Otherwise I'd have been hard pressed not to smash his nose in for being such a liar and making light of that massacre."

_Smash his nose in?_ Uh-oh. He surely had an inclination towards quickly judging someone: a fault with which I was intimately familiar, too. Aevan warned me during my training that a paladin—especially a paladin of Tyr—had this weakness and thus should constantly strive not to let it override the much more useful common sense.

"He did not make light of it." I argued. "He merely wanted to impress some girls, so he made up a fancy story." I remembered Elanee's disgust as she discovered that the man constructed his tale of surviving the Ember massacre because he wanted to hide the fact that he was out there in the Duskwood trying to find a dryad who'd be…well, who'd be responsive to his male charms_. As if he had any_- my druidess pointed it out at that point, furiously.

Casavir snorted.

"And that's a good reason to spread lies?"

"I swear…"I grimaced. "You've never been sixteen, have you?"

"_Elghun_ isn't now, so that's irrelevant." he pointed out; I noticed how deftly he dodged the subject. "Unless you are arguing that he's perpetually adolescent, my lady, which I would accept."

A thrill run through me: I started to enjoy this evening, after all.

"I was merely using that as a comparison illuminating the possible motivations of a rather useless and apparently frustrated male. Impressing girls is a prime directive of men, and thus…"

"Generalization." He leaned back on his chair too, with a glint in his eye that was new. He steepled his fingers." And possible slander. Tread carefully there, my lady."

"Fine!" I threw up my hands. "I should have known not to get into an argument with you after what Shandra told me about your disputation skills. You have an advantage of both birth and training on me."

"You are catching up fast, though." he said. I took that as encouragement. "That might have been nice even by Sand's strict standards. I know he's worried about how you'll fare under the scrutiny of Torio Claven. She's rumored to be a true mistress of words."

"Oh, I don't know—maybe I should just word-spar with you instead of using swords for the rest of the time." I sighed. "The _Pride_ sails back tomorrow, a carefully arranged coincidence, I am assuming." I stole a glance at Sand; he was still in the same chair by the fire, a plate with half-eaten food next to him on the ground, and he was scribbling furiously on a piece of foolscap. "Although I am sure he wants to drill me mercilessly for the entire journey—provided I will not be busy leaning over the railing the entire time again."

I stood up, stretched my shoulders absently, inasmuch as I was able to in full plate—and had to wave him back on his chair.

"No, you stay sit…"_Darned nobles and their impeccable manners, _I grumbled inwards "I just really have to get to bed, I am afraid." I glanced towards the fire. "Before that, though, I need to check with Sand about how his defense preparations are going, and have him take a look at Nya's amulet, and…"I trailed to a halt, running through a mental checklist like so many times these past weeks.

"You have much on your mind, my lady." he said, with more warmth in his voice than that simple sentence should have warranted, really. "Anything I can help with?"

"Short of making all charges disappear, Ember to be back as it was, figuring out the whole silver shard business, not to mention fixing Ambassador Claven's hideous taste in clothing...?" I _still_ couldn't get that gown out of my head. I dropped my voice. "You have already done more than I could ever have asked. Just…try not to get mad at me when I am not perfect, please?" I tried for a smile.

"As you wish, my lady." he said, after a pause. That slightly detached expression was back on his face again, and I knew that somehow I caused its return. I just wasn't sure how, or why. But I really didn't think I could have handled a lecture about how I was supposed to strive for perfection anyway. Therefore, I decided on tactical withdrawal, and concentrated my forces on getting through to Sand instead, who seemed to be entirely absorbed in his notes.

I cleared my throat as I drew up a chair next to him, and he looked up, startled. I was surprised he didn't hear me with his elven ears, but apparently he was really concentrating on his work.

"Sorry to interrupt, Sand." I winced as another wave of tiredness washed over me. "I won't keep you long."

"Why, it appears I was more absorbed in this than I thought." He sounded slightly exhausted himself. "The process is almost like potion-brewing, in fact. Strict order of things, otherwise _phhhfft_! It all blows up in your face." He made another of his complicated hand gestures.  
"Putting facts together?" I asked.

"Notes for the trial, yes." He glanced at the top of the neat little pile on the tray by his elbow; I just noticed he was left-handed. "And a list of the potential witnesses for both sides."

"Hmmm…" I craned my neck so I could see. "Do you mind?"

"Why would I?" Sand looked at me with a curious expression on his face. "After all, I am representing you. I am merely surprised that you take interest in the minutiae."

"I am not questioning your abilities, if that's what bothers you." I hastened to assure him. "And of course I am interested. Like I told you a couple of times, I am well aware that it's _my_ neck that is at stake. Why, did you think I would be aloof and unavailable and let you to do this all by yourself?"

"I would have thought…"He hesitated. "...Many things, truth to tell. Before, well…"he shifted in his chair, "… Ember."

I looked around. Elanee, Shandra and Khelgar were gone: I assumed they nipped out for getting some supplies before darkness set in, since they discussed that before we got to town. Grobnar was sitting in a corner with his lute, running his fingers through the strings. I hoped he would _not _play one of his own songs-- last time he did that at the Flagon he got pelted with bits of food and the occasional glass. Neeshka was at his table, with her chin resting in her palm, looking animated but happy as she talked to Casavir. I suppressed a smile: that was the result of that night when he sat next to her at dinner during our first stay in Port Llast. He treated her with utmost courtesy and made small talk during the entire time, which apparently impressed my tiefling enough that she decided itching skin or not, the paladin was all right after all. Besides, both of them were natives of Neverwinter, unlike anyone else in our company, so they probably had a lot to talk about.

It looked like Sand and I had a good chance at having an actual conversation.

"Because of what we have seen?" I asked.

"Because of how you acted, my dear." His eyes were different: less distant, more…involved, somehow, than before. "There are laws, and there is right and wrong. I know you uphold the law, and I do not believe you are guilty of this horrible crime." He shook his head. "I believe people should answer for their crimes, but it must be just."

"You speak almost like a Tyrran." I said, wondering. I knew almost nothing about him, except that Duncan thought him useful, a peddler of minor but perfectly realized charms and potions, of questionable origin and dubious reputation. Given that my foster-uncle was the owner of a less than savory inn himself, his dislike for Sand seemed suspicious on its own. Also, as I started to understand the deeper politics of Neverwinter, I also surmised that if Sand was a trusted agent of the Nine and Nasher, the entire hedge-wizard image might have simply been a carefully constructed persona.

Sand sighed: a surprisingly human sound, ending in a grimace.

"If you have ever been ruined by politics, you know that at some point, one must make a stand, or else more will fall." He shrugged. "Call this my stand, if you will. Sand, the Dockside charlatan, against the plotting of Luskan to rule the North. We could sell tickets."

I grinned.

"Right next to the ones where Neeshka and I argue, if Khelgar is to be believed. What money we could make!" I leaned forward, more serious. "So what is your professional opinion, then? About the accusations and the possible outcome of the trial, I mean."

"Dear girl, I am sitting here, thinking and making notes and this can only make sense from one angle." Sand tapped the foolscap in front of him on the tray. " Despite the role Luskan played in her fate, they will rely on Neverwinter's memories of the Lady Aribeth's betrayal of the city to make their accusations more credible." He made an impatient gesture seeing my face. "Girl, don't tell me you have no idea what I am talking about!"

"Only a little." I confessed. "History of Neverwinter was never one of my favorite subjects back in West Harbor, although, of course, I heard about Aribeth and the plague, and that she betrayed the city." I looked at Sand sharply. "So what we discussed earlier, that theoretical possibility that Torio will use the fallen-paladin card…you really do believe she'll do that?"

"Let me see. "Sand pulled his chair around and lifted the foolscap. "_Pro primo_-you are a paladin of Tyr, just like she was. _Pro secundo_-you came to the city with the Mere's mud still on your boots, just like she arrived from Neverwinter Woods, with origins largely unknown. _Pro tertio_-as we discussed earlier, you had highly questionable dealings with less savory characters, just like she employed some questionable characters to find the source of the plague. _Pro quarto_- her fiancé, Fenthick, was a cleric of Tyr, and a traitor to Neverwinter, just as Casavir Korranos is perceived by many…"

"_Ergo_? " I lifted an eyebrow. He used the precise terminology of Tyrran law argumentation basics drilled into me by Aevan—that was odd, too.

He grinned, unexpectedly and clapped his palms together once.

"Good. Very good. You don't rise to the bait as easy as others of your profession…" His glance towards Casavir was unmistakable. "That_will _be very useful against the ambassador in the courtroom. As to my conclusion…" he shrugged elegantly, "clearly you were set up, clearly this is an attack not merely on you but on Lord Nasher and his policies firmly supporting the Even-Handed and his church, and clearly there will be some very uncomfortable moments in the courtroom when Torio drags out not only that parallel but your brother in Tyr's past."

"Which still does not tell me what your strategy is, wizard." I said calmly, glancing at his foolscap again. I saw two columns of writing with his neat and organized, slightly spiky elven handwriting, labeled 'Theirs' and 'Ours".

"I listed out the potential witnesses, clues and evidence here for simplicity's sake." he said, still retaining some amusement in his voice. "If you care to peruse it now or later during the voyage, I can make a copy."

"Thank you." I nodded. "That way we can discuss it on our way back. I would not like to be blindsided from either way of the courtroom."

"You wound me, dear girl." Sand chuckled. "Nevertheless, I obey my instructions clearly, and it shall be as you say. I am assuming you corrected that oversight about you not knowing the titular Lord Korranos'…past?"

"There is nothing Torio or her lackeys could dig up there that could surprise me any more." I withstood his gaze squarely. "Anything else?"

"Oh, my." he said, leaning back in his chair and studying me with his cold, analytic stare. "You _are _growing up…this squiring business seems to be agreeing with you."

"Accusing one with mass murdering a village might do that, even with such a country bumpkin as I. "I said sourly.

"Indeed." He nodded. "I still remember the way you stood there in the Flagon's common room, in that beaten-up old armor, full of righteous indignation because I couldn't scry your shard properly enough for you…"

"Oh,_bollocks_…" I remembered something. "Sand, speaking about scrying…"I fished out Nya's amulet from my pouch and slid it on his tray. "Would you take a look at that? Nya gave it to me…you know, the herbalist, who…"

"Oh yes. She of wyrmsage, unrequited love and folk suspicions…" The wizard sniffed, somewhat disdainfully, but professional curiosity triumphed over his prejudices—again. He picked up the gold chain. "Hmmm…it's heavy for its size. At least when she gives a reward for services performed, the lady gives well: this is high-grade gold, not some small-carat trinket you get in the pawnshops of the Docks. Let me see. "He closed his eyes, murmured a few words, passing his hand over the other holding the amulet, drawing a complicated rune in the air while doing so. There was a brief sparkle of violet light, slowly dissipating; then another thoughtful 'hmmm' from Sand.

"She said that priest of hers served Kelemvor, correct?" he asked when he opened his eyes. I nodded; no one could accuse Sand of faulty memory. "It makes sense…"He slid the medal back towards me. "Its enchantment is rather significant. Plainly speaking…"the unspoken '_so you can understand'_ hung there in the air, making me grimace, "…this thing will grant its wearer such protection from the magic of Death so that cannot reach him or her. Period. "

"That's…pretty powerful." That was the only thing I was able to think saying, then just sat there for a few moments, pondering what that meant.

"I think so, too." Sand said calmly. "The Lord of the Dead must have favored that servant of his greatly…and Nya must have thought you highly indeed to…." His eyes gleamed with a sudden thought. "I say….!"he exclaimed, and pushed himself off his chair. "Here, would you make sure this gets back to our rooms? I need to step out for a little while." He pressed the writing tray in my hands and, swirling his green cloak around his shoulders, headed for the door.

I shook my head: he was on a scent again. I probably could have stopped him and demanded answers or explanations…but what would have that accomplished? Well, truly, it might have satisfied my curiosity besides making me feel like I was in control…except that he will tell me later anyway, and I had to realize that if I couldn't trust those who I risked my life for and who risked their lives for me on a daily basis, I might as well just curl up in a corner and die.

Except that the exact same people probably would come after me and drag me out kicking and screaming. For different reasons, each and every one of them, but they would.

I smiled to myself as I headed upstairs, with the tray in my arm. Elanee arranged for two rooms. The _Alliance Arms_ was so small that we couldn't secure private sleeping arrangements for everyone…despite Sand's protests that Khelgar's snoring kept him awake even during our journey in the woods. The dwarf, in defense, pointed out that Sand barely slept anyway, being an elf and a wizard and a lawyer all in one. That's when and where I left them, seeking out Calindra in her corner earlier.

The first room was the one closest to the stairs. I knocked out of courtesy and habit before entering—not that I expected any of my male companions to be there, but habits were hard to break. I could immediately identify Sand's bed by the way it was rearranged so it faced the window, right next to a stand with a colorful Neverwinter glass lamp, and a bundle of papers, some scrolls in their cases, and his pale green bedroll neatly arranged on top. I put the tray down on his bedroll and looked around in the cramped room. The bed with assorted armor parts, sturdy brown bedroll and wineskin strewn all around it must have been Khelgar's, closest to the door, while Grobnar's held a pile of colorful clothing, a notebook with hastily scribbled musical notation left open on top of the coverlet, and a rather sad-looking tiny piece of his favorite honeycake on the pillow—he probably hoarded that since we left Neverwinter.

That left the last one, opposite Sand's, with its small portable Tyr altar set up on the windowsill next to it. I really felt like a trespasser at this point, so I was glad that there wasn't much in sight. I remembered how neat and organized his tiny room in the Flagon was when I saw it, even with the obvious signs of being treated for serious burns. Unlike the other three beds, there was no stuff piled up or scattered. Bedroll still strapped together, his saddlepacks against the wall—the only thing that was out was the little altar with the incense holder already set up. I did not even get the chance to do that with mine.

I automatically stepped closer, bent my knee to the tiny figure of the god standing there, making the sign of the sword above my heart…and noticed something else. There were a couple of little frames set up around the altar, holding some miniature paintings. Three of the frames were open, their double covers opened back so they can stand up, book-like. These three looked worn, the frames a bit chipped and dented, as if they had seen many travels and hardship with their owner.

I should not have, but something made me to lean closer to see…

One was a double portrait, done in a formal style—the entire thing was barely larger than my palm and yet the faces seemed to sparkle with life. The man had so much of Casavir's statue-perfect features that it only could have been his father, except the eyes were the palest grey and the hair worn longer, closer to the style Sir Grayson had his. Even the moustache resembled my knight's, completed with a small and perfectly groomed chin-beard. The lady next to him in the frame had Casavir's eyes: azure, with lashes that curled impossibly long, a simple updo of chestnut hair, and a calm smile that seemed to radiate warmth even through wood and paint and varnish. The second frame held the painting of a stiff-looking girl with her father's grey eyes and her mother's mass of chestnut hair forced into formal ringlets falling on her shoulders—must have been his sister. The third was…another woman, older than the sister but much younger than the mother, with a mischievous smile playing the corner of her full lips, a diamond-studded circlet on her rich golden hair braided into an elaborate hairstyle. She was very beautiful, with perfectly symmetrical features that nevertheless were suffused with life by the slightly slanted cat-green eyes. Each portrait had a small inscription on the cover of the frame, so I could tell after a glance that my first guess was right: the double miniature was the Lord Darnell and Lady Sebille Korranos, the frowning girl their daughter, Lynneth, and the blonde beauty the second Lady Korranos, Temnara.

I swallowed. This was the family he lost. He still carried their images with him, all through the wars, the self-imposed exile, the time spent in the mountains around Old Owl Well. I could just picture him each evening spent at a new camp or inn, setting up the altar, arranging the increasingly more weather-beaten frames around it as if anchoring himself, asking for the god's protection for them in the afterlife…

My hands moved as of on their own volition, even though my mind kept screaming to stop. I took up the last frame: it was laid closed tightly against the side of the altar, slightly larger than the others, the size of a small book. This was noticeably newer than the others, and of fine ebony wood, with silver hinges. My fingers snapped open the clasp, worked into the shape of a hammer…

It wasn't a painting. It was a piece of fabric, about palm-sized, set behind a thin plate of glass: cream-colored silk, with a piece of delicate Amnian lace edging it.

I am not sure how I got out of the room. I felt my heart was about to burst out of my ribcage, my mouth was dry and my eyes were burning. Somehow I found the other room, pushed the door closed behind me, and I leaned against it with all the weight of my armor, buried my face in my hands, and gulped the air in great gasps to calm myself. The whispering of feathers on great unfolding wings was back; I felt like falling into their embrace.

That piece of cloth, framed and set against the shrine of the god like some saint's relic, carefully preserved, was a piece from my own nightgown, ruined and tossed that night of Shandra's kidnapping in the _Flagon_.

_Sweet Ilmater, Lord of Mercy and Tyr Even-Handed! What was going on here?_


	19. What Am I To You?

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

_Sorry for being somewhat late with this chapter…life and playing MotB intervened a bit. Here it is, though, and hopefully it is enjoyable._

**Disclaimers:**

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections; I give my due thanks to those who already have done so. It really helps me to get better, so please feel free to leave a review.**

**There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things.**

**For this chapter the following songs were playing, lending inspiration_: What Am I To You? _from Norah Jones' _Feels Like Home_; _Parlay_ from the _Pirates of the Carribbean III_ soundtrack by the wonderful Hans Zimmer; and_ Movement VII_ from Vangelis'_ El Greco _(which should really be theme music for all Tyr's champions out there **

**As always, I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… Arrighan is entirely my fault, though.**

**Chapter Nineteen**

"Well, well, well. So they are back…Did you have a pleasant stroll through the groves of Duskwood, holy girl?"

Bishop was standing in the common room of the _Flagon _as if he owned the place. He half-turned from Sal's bar counter, mug in hand raised in mock salute. His mangy wolf-beast behind him lay there with its head on its paws, eyes blinking at me sleepily. Most patrons of the inn kept a considerable distance from them, and understandably so. The ranger looked even worse for wear than usual.

"Now, Bishop…" Duncan scowled. He turned from me after giving me a surprisingly tight hug, and put his hands on his hips. "There's no need for that."

"Let me see…" drawled the ranger, as if Duncan did not even speak. Those cold, dead eyes surveyed me with their almost eviscerating, intense hazel gaze. "Severely pale, lost some weight from the way that armor fits her now as opposed to when she left, dark circles under the eyes, hair unkempt…" Something sparkled up in his eyes that sent me into full battle alert, just like when I saw him the first time. Yes, he was up to no good. "My, my, that means either that you had a _really_ good time out there… or good ol' Casavir decided to keep his chastity vows after all."

"Oh dear." Neeshka said behind me. The quiet that descended on the inn was such that I could clearly hear Karnwyr's panting.

"Stop." My arm came up as of its own volition, stiff and extended to my right; my vambrace made a sharp 'twang' noise as it connected to Casavir's breastplate. He was about to lunge himself at Bishop.

"No brawling in my uncle's tavern." I hissed, but at the same time I was on the move.

My patience was at its end. After two days on that ship again, barely catching any sleep, barely eating, reviewing clues, speeches and possible angles with Sand until his angular, precise handwriting was dancing in front of my eyes even when I closed them, avoiding the increasingly baffled attempts from Casavir to talk to me because, honestly, what could I have said?…I just had no inclination to let this latest stab from Bishop slide.

I crossed the floor in three long strides, grabbed the mug the ranger was holding with my gauntleted hands and _twisted_…

"Wrong, Bishop." I breathed in his ear while the mug broke with a wet 'crunch' sound and the contents spilled all over his arm. We locked eyes; I felt from the strain of his muscles that he tried to move, but right then, I could have arm-wrestled an ogre. I got my other hand on his arm just above his elbow and twisted a bit more, so he knew that I meant it this time.

I took that lock to its last possible stage, where his shoulder was starting to pop out of his socket and the pain made his hazel eyes water. Somewhere, I faintly heard his wolf whimper. I kept my grip, kept my eye on his, kept my voice even and flat and utterly without any emotion.

"We did _not_ have a good time. We mostly spent our time burying two-week old rotting corpses, an entire village, including kids barely walking age, then trying not to remember that in our sleep. You would have _loved_ it, Bishop." I let go. The remains of the mug clattered all over the floor as his fist opened. I could see blood.

"Sorry about that, Uncle." I said over my shoulder, and I tossed a coin on the bar. "That should cover the costs."

I turned around. Most of the inhabitants of the common room stared at me with faces in various shades of pale. I wasn't sure what they saw, but just then, I did not care if flames were coming out of my nostrils, even.

"And now, if ye aw excuse me, I shall go up to me room and change—I have a talk wi' someone at the temple." That was a clear sign of just how upset I was. All my careful enunciation was out the door and I was back to my old West Harbor brogue, thick as peat on the Mere, from before Aevan started to work on me.

Neeshka caught up with me on the corridor just outside my room. She was fast and didn't make noise, but then, after all, that's how she used to make her living.

"Um…Rig?" she said softly as she tapped my shoulder. "Is everything all right?"

"Not exactly, Neesh, no." I unlocked the door, slammed it open, marched in, and started to shed pieces of armor all over the place, not caring where they fell.

"Um, just…you barely spoke to anyone during the entire trip back but Sand, and you didn't come out of your cabin much…and now you tore into Bishop like that…"She came around and stood by my bed, fidgeting nervously with the tip of her tail. Something was clearly bothering her. "Erm…I know you got pretty upset about Ember, and that this whole trial business is rather trying, I mean… I can't even imagine how much…but…"She took a deep breath. "Rig, you are not upset with me because me and Casavir…um, talked?"

"What???" I stopped, with a half-piece of my greaves in my hand. "Neesh, by the gods, I am not prescribing who you talk to, as long as that person is not Leldon or one of his henchmen…what am I, a fucking slaver?" I sat down heavily on my bed and started to undo the sabatons. One of the buckles stuck. I swore again.

"Here, let me help." Neeshka said impatiently. "So you are…not angry with me or… him because…?"

I closed my eyes and counted to ten; a small laugh, far from cheerful, has escaped my throat.

"Sweetling, calm down." Here I was, about to play counselor to a distressed tiefling, when my own emotions were in such disarray that I could not even take my own armor off. The story of my life. "I am actually quite glad that you and he are talking. I tend to _like_ when all of my companions get along and can discuss other matters than simply battle tactics, you know."

Neeshka stared at me over the piece of armor she just took off me: her red eyes held confusion.

"But…but…"she stammered. "But I thought you would be…"

"I would be what?" The buckle finally came loose: I kicked with my left foot and the sabaton came loose at last, flying through the width of my room and coming to rest against the opposite wall after ricocheting off. "Angry? Resentful? Jealous? Me?"

"Sorry." she mumbled; she looked down, and I could see that she felt ashamed. "You are right…I know you are a paladin, you don't do that stuff…"

"Except temper tantrums, apparently." I said, sighing. I pulled my feet up and hugged my knees, feeling monstrously stupid all of a sudden. "It is I who has to apologize, Neesh, and probably to everyone, pretty much." I had to swallow to fight down the bitter taste of bile in my throat. "This case affects me rather strong."

And that was all I wanted to say. Paladins never lie, and I could not and would not tell anyone what really upset me so much, until I got to the temple and had a word with Father Prior. And I would _especially _not talk about it to Neeshka…I loved her to death, but this particular case definitely fell into the category of 'not to be discussed with a tiefling ex-master thief'.

Neeshka nodded.

"I totally understand, Rig. It's just…I got so worked up about this…I mean, I can be so tactless sometimes, and I really shot my mouth there in the Port Llast harbor, right? Then Casavir …you know how I always complain that his aura makes me itch, but still, he just talked and asked all kinds of questions about what was it like in the house of Helm where I grew up, and he was really patient and understanding and then we discovered all these places we both knew in Neverwinter and just talked about them, and what they have there, like, there is this really good food stand on the other side of the Docks where you can h…"

"Neesh." I said mildly, holding a hand up. "Please. Slow down. One, you make me dizzy; two, I am not your confessor and you owe me no explanation about anything--especially not if you two finally decided that a tiefling and a paladin aristocrat can be friends just as well as said tiefling and an aasimar. Okay?" She nodded, her lips quivering a little. I stood up and gave her a hug. "Sweetling, you are my friend and I love you, but I need to finish changing and then I have an urgent errand to the Temple." I gently steered her towards the door, still hugging her shoulder. I suspected that Neeshka did not get enough of that as a child, being an orphan. I, too, was _still _skittish about people touching me, but oddly enough, there started to be exceptions in the past couple of months.

"All right…" She sniffled, and put her hand on the door handle. "Thanks for…" Her freckles run apart as she smiled, relieved. "You know…not blowing up in my face and stuff…"

"Neesh…I _did _blow up in your face." I said, as patiently as I could, indicating the forlorn piece of armor lying by the wall where my kick shot it. "What I am trying to tell you is that it was not your fault. Try not to freak out from the thought that this time you did everything right, up to and including worrying about your friend." I squeezed her shoulders.

"Hey, I always said you were nice, remember?" The freckles around her horns were dancing now. "You know, when you come back…perhaps we could get a bottle of wine or something, and talk some?" she asked, somehow still nervous. "Maybe Elanee, too…you know, like in the good old days when Khelgar grumbled too much?"

"That is actually not a bad idea." I said slowly. "Depending on the wine, though…I shall need something rather strong after today." I smiled at her—there was no point in making her worry too much about something she did not understand the first place. Actually, I did not understand it either…but that was about to change, wasn't it? "Now go, sweetling. Duncan probably will insist on making something tasty to celebrate our return, and if you don't help him, Shandra will take over his kitchen."

Neeshka winced.

"You are so right…" she said with a sigh. "Shandra can be quite…unpredictable around Duncan. She has a serious crush on your uncle, I'm afraid…"

"Nah, she just likes his butt." _Oops_…That was definitely a West Harbor moment, there. Sometimes I almost forgot when talking to Neeshka that it was not Amie, she reminded me of her so much. "And he's not my uncle, actually--he's my foster-father's half-brother." I added, for clarification.

"_What_ever…" Neeshka said, bouncing out the door. "He _does_ have a tasty one, though, for an aged adventurer, that's true." She winked. "Should we leave some food for you?"

I shook my head.

"You ladies are a bad influence on me. I am not sure I can leave my aged uncle in your hands, if such is the prevailing opinion about his behind amongst my female companions." Neeshka giggled. "Don't worry about me…Even if I get back on time from the Temple, I doubt I'll have any appetite."

"Ah." Neeshka nodded, seriously. "Mysterious paladin stuff. Understood. I'll just go then and put my hands on your uncle before Shandra gets there first." As she disappeared around the corner, I could see that she was winking at me, with one finger held in front of her lips.

I closed my door, shaking my head vigorously. I had to admit, the thought of getting Uncle Dunk in trouble somehow cheered me up, and that alone should have worried me about the state my mind and convictions were at the moment.

But, dammit, it certainly put me in a better mood so I did not just run out the inn, and charged into the temple as I was, demanding to see Father Prior.

No, it just meant I cooled my emotions long enough so that I grabbed a change of clothes, ducked into the bathroom at the end of the hallway, slapped some hot water on me (due to an ingenious sorcery my uncle invested some of his adventuring fortunes in, there was a complicated mechanism of pipes and taps installed that gave, after much gurgling and some clunky noises, instant hot water on demand), pulled on my spares (incidentally, it was the blue silk outfit from Hassim the Rashemi merchant), and I quietly let myself out the back door through the stables.

_Mysterious paladin stuff, indeed_…I pondered Neeshka's words as I hurried through the streets towards the Dolphin Bridge, dodging the traffic The folds of my blue cloak swirled around me, and I scarcely noticed people getting out of my way as I felt my face darken remembering that sick feeling in my stomach holding that ebony box in that cramped room in the Alliance Arms. _I'll show them mysterious paladin stuff…_

The big oak door with its shining steel hinges was always intimidating, but this time I did not stop to ponder the meanings of the bronze friezes, or tried to get in through the small side door I normally used. I felt the anger welling up in me again, but in a much colder form, more controlled. The whispering of large feathery wings echoed clearly in my mind as I put my hands on the two wings of the gate and _pushed_…

_Darkness has no hold/ Shadow has no power/When your might enfolds/ All evil will cower…_

The gate swung open with a deep, resounding 'clang' sound that reverberated beneath the ancient vaulting, amongst the heavy pillars of the temple. Two acolytes, in their gray robes of the Seekers of Truth, were sweeping the floor in the nave; they looked up, dropped their brooms and scattered between the gloom of the aisles.

The anger subsided like a tide… but in its wake the great white wings unfolded, and my silver-and-crimson power woke like a pillar of light reaching towards the crown of my head.

_Justice is mine and Truth is my weapon…_

I marched in, towards the closest one, stuck my arm out and grabbed his cowl as he was trying to scurry.

"Where. Is. Hlam?" I measured the words between my teeth precisely, like an alchemist does with potion ingredients.

"T…Th…The Father P-p-prior is in p-p-private discussion with…" he stammered, avoiding meeting my gaze; one of his hands came up to shield his face from something; his lips were moving silently even after his voice died away.

"_Where?_" I was not aware that I was shaking him, until I heard the rhythmic '_thwank-thwank_' of his other hand limply banging against a pew.

"His office…" he whispered; I could see the whites of his eyes.

"Thank you." I let go and kept walking; he fell back to the pew with a startled cry. The feeling of _someone_ walking with me intensified; I could almost feel the wind kicked up by the wings of _something_ in another dimension, as I reached the sacristy door and tried the door handle. It was locked from the inside; but that _something_ then got a hold of me and made a tendril of my silver-and-crimson power to reach out through my hand and _push_, just like at the main gate…

"Father Prior." I said, stepping forward; a smile was etched on my face, but I wasn't sure it was mine any more. "Can I have a word?"

"WHAT in the name of Tyr are you doing, chil…" That started out like a thunderous condemnation of the uninitiated and ended up brought up short and cut off in an undignified little squeak. The other person in the room. Stern, looming forehead, carved with lines of wisdom, wisps of gray hair smoothed back to the temples, hawkish nose jutting sharply out above blade-thin lips.

The High Honorable Judge Olaff Uskar, Lord Justiciar of Neverwinter stared at me, parchment-white and grabbing the edge of Father Prior's altar desk in the corner. Hlam fared no better: he doubled over in obvious pain, shielding his face and shaking.

_And my world stopped then…_

"_**Leave them, child**_." The words came to my mind like etched in silver fire. I was vaguely aware this time, unlike back there, in Duncan's yard when this first happened. The scent of cedar, sandal, and frankincense wafted through my mind in rhythm with the loud hum of a dozen great white wings fluttering. "_**Your anger is justified…but not at them. They are but doing My bidding, ordering a Champion to watch over you, binding him to your service."**_

Silver-white light seared through me, bent my spine back in an arch as I fell on my knees with open arms…The agony, centering on the middle of my chest, where the shard of silver resided, was part pain, part something more, sweet and unbearable, the feeling of _power_, akin to what I felt when I was healing Casavir's wounds. My birthmarks blazed under my clothing with the silver heat of it, until I felt that my very skin catches fire. My spine was taut and outstretched; I could feel my fingers curving, my nails digging into the cool stone floor behind me, heel drumming on the marble as His power shook my body over and over again.

"_**You shall walk the path…"**_ the Voice said, fainter this time, as if fading back to amongst the wind stirred by those wings, on the ebbing and flowing tide of silver lances of pain. "_**You shall endure… and you shall be victorious."**_

And, even more distant, almost a whisper, lost in the wind and amidst my own gasps of breath:

"_**Keep the Light…"**_

I gave in then: those great wings laid claim on me, and I let myself fall into their soft, incense-scented warm embrace. _He_ left me, and for a while I felt nothing but the touch of downy feathers, finer than the finest silk, and I sank into them as if I wanted to drown.

When I came to, it was to the feeling of a cool, wet cloth gently sponging my face. The sensation of something soft around me was still there, but instead of feathers, it was…

_Pillows?_

I coughed and tried to sit up—if anything, I always hated not knowing what was going on around me.

"Lay still, child." I heard Hlam's voice above me. "You cracked a vertebra—let the healing magic take hold…it should only take a minute."

"I did a…what?" I felt weak and rather dizzy…and started to feel the first stirrings of some considerable pain in my back. That was a serious injury. "How?"

"It can happen during…Manifestations." The other voice was Oleff's. "The physical body is weak, while the Power entering it is…not. Just a little more, child, and you can sit up." A dual intake of breath, then the sounds of soft chanting of two rather melodious male voices—one basso, one tenor—in perfect pitch and harmony that almost made me cry by the sheer beauty of it. I could feel a soft glow and warmth in my torso as their healing power descended on me, flowing from their fingers.

"There, that should do it, Father." Oleff's voice had some grim satisfaction in it. "Let us help you up, child."

Two pairs of arms reached under my shoulder, held my arms, tucked more pillows behind me…

"If this is a dream or vision I am having..." I croaked, hesitantly, and took a shaky breath"…shouldn't I have some…younger helpers, at least? No offense, Your Honor…"

I opened my eyes to see the two highest-ranking holy men of Tyr in Neverwinter looking at each other, suitably shocked. I felt considerable relief when the High Justiciar's blade-thin lips widened into a wry smile in the next second.

"Ah. I see." He raised an eyebrow. "Young Korranos, perhaps?"

"Oh, gods, no!" I moaned, blushing furiously—I felt my cheeks were on fire. I wanted to bit my tongue off right there—I should have known not to try smarting with _that_ man. I heard whispers about how he had permanent Truthseeing granted to him by the god to see the fault lines and secrets in every faithful's soul…

"Yes, she _is_ feeling better." Oleff leaned over to Hlam, whispering somehow theatrically, one keen black eye still on me. "Delusional, perhaps, but better." They both looked at me, nodded in unison, then, to my amazement, sat down on the floor in front of me, cross-legged, one cushion each.

"Now, child…"Hlam smoothed down his robe on his knees: he forwent his usual ceremonial armor today, wearing the simple habit of one of the god's fighting monks in white, with his silver holy symbol hanging from his neck. "Apologies would normally be in order for keeping so much from you until now; given how rapidly things are progressing, it would seem that some explanations are obviously necessary."  
"Yes, I would like that. Very much." I added, after some hesitation, and coughed again.

"Ah, yes…"Hlam muttered, reaching behind him with rather surprising agility. "Here…drink this." He handed a cup to me, with some clear, cool liquid that tasted like something herbal. "Nothing magical, just a cooled herbal tisane I rather enjoy while meditating." he forestalled my question after my first sip. "Now that that is out of the way…"He threw a glance at Oleff. "Should I start?"

"By all means, old friend." The High Justiciar nodded. "You are much more versed in the…spiritual side of this than I ever was."

That earned him a _very_ undignified snort from Hlam.

"Says the priest to the paladin…You just don't want one more responsibility on your shoulders, that's the real reason." he glared at the High Justiciar for a second, then turned to me, hands neatly folded in his lap.

"Well, where should I start, child?" he said, gently. "I should think you probably worked out by now that you are no ordinary servant of Tyr, right?"

That was a deceptively simple question and begging for false modesty. Being twisted and taken over by the god's powers like a ragdoll twice in a couple of weeks, however, I didn't think I could take the easy way out there. That didn't mean I wasn't trying, though.

"Yes, Father Prior." I nodded. "Casavir…um…Brother Korranos explained that I was someone called _Imperfecta, _and…"

"Brother Korranos ought to be disciplined, I should think." Hlam said, shaking his head, but with a faint smile on his face. "Obedience and silence vows always sat ill with that boy. I really don't know why we ever thought of entrusting your continued… hmmm… well-being on him."

"So that's what he's doing." A headache started up behind my temple like a slowly, but inimitably mounting rainstorm.

"No, that's what I _ordered_ him to do." Hlam said, a bit impatiently. "Surely you are aware that there is a difference, child?"

"Father…"I started, rubbing my eyes. _Let's try this again_. "I am not at my best at the moment; nevertheless, I appreciate your subtlety and wittiness that clearly demonstrates how unworthy I am to the attention I receive lately. I further admit that I was evading the real meaning of your question, and I would be ready to do whatever penance you mete out for me… but may I beg you to give this to me in plainspeak, please?"

"Ah." Hlam looked at Oleff. "I apparently need to work on that humility part, old friend, that much is clear. You want to take over from here?"

"A paladin who runs from the battle." Oleff harrumphed. "Should have figured; after all, all you do these days is sitting here in the temple…" He sat on the pillow ramrod straight, head slightly tilted to the side like a large, black-clad bird of prey.

"Well, child…"he said, and I had to resist the urge to look away, so intense was his gaze. "_Imperfecta_ or not, West Harbor hick or not, inferiority complex or not, Luskan accusations of mass murder notwithstanding…and we'll talk about that in a minute…"

I stifled a sigh. These two were more long-winded than Aevan ever was…surpassing even Brother Merring's sermons on Tenthday we all dreaded and were fascinated by at the same time as teenagers. I hoped they would not notice my impatience with their constant meandering.

I should have known better.

"Patience, child." Oleff lifted a finger. "Better learn it, and fast. In two days' time, you'll be standing in a courtroom in front of the Lord Nasher and his entire assembled court, answering those accusations, and if that temper of yours gets a hold of you there, _aasimar_ or no, paladin or no, Tyr's Chosen or no…"

I felt like a little gnome, probably one of Grobnar's relatives, inserted itself under my skull bone at the nape of my neck and started to dance a jig on a pair of razor wires attached to my eyeballs.

"Can I get that last part again, please? The one about being a Chosen?" I asked quietly, trying not to startle the little gnome dancing in my skull. It might start dancing faster…

"Child, there was a True Sending dream about you…shortly after you arrived to the City." Oleff said, somberly. "Hlam here has seen it first. I saw it a week later."

"I am assuming you cannot talk about the content of it, correct?" I closed my eyes for a second.

"Indeed." Oleff said dryly. I swallowed. It was I who had a vertebra cracked by the Power who Sent that message to them. If He preferred to keep the precise nature of that message secret, I would rather not risk another one of those punishments for questioning His will.

"So when young Korranos came to the Temple the first time and took confession, I asked him about you." Hlam said gently. "And he told me about the…Manifestation in your uncle's yard."

"Foster-uncle." I said weakly. The gnome in my skull pulled on the wires now; I had little sparkles dancing in front of my eyes, like firebugs. "But Casavir swore he wouldn't tell…"

"He swore he would not _tell_. He didn't swear he won't answer a direct question from his superior about you." Hlam frowned. "Child, like it or not, want it or not, you are clearly touched by Him, and for greater things than either the High Justiciar or I could understand. Your presence here in our city is the herald of things to come that we can only pray to comprehend in time, and would much rather avoid. Something is coming. Something Tyr wants to warn us against…and against what, or whom, He deemed you worthy of His service more than any other servant of His. In this, Casavir Korranos judged correctly by obeying his superiors." He smiled at me for a brief moment. "But don't think for a moment that there was nothing but obedience in it. He is…"he paused, and considered for a while, during which I think I could hear every single heartbeat of mine clearly, "…he is devoted to you. For all intends and purposes, he is your Champion."

The tiny gnome pulled on the wires even faster; my heartbeat sped up. As I looked at the two men in front of me, I could see their aura now: it was silver, tinged with a clear edge of steel-gray and deep gold. Both were radiating concern... and more. I desperately tried to focus.

With whatever new powers the god saw fit to give me today, I could _feel_ their trust in me, the trust that I will come out of this trial and its accusations unscathed and triumphant, ready to face whatever is beyond…whatever I was Chosen for.

I touched my chest where the silver shard lay hidden, and I could feel it responding with a cold glow seeping into my fingers. I knew that it was connected to this, to this intricate web of events. The silver shards, The Master of the Fifth Tower, Torio Claven, Lorne, the tattooed warlock, the githyanki, all of my companions, Nasher, Nevalle, Olef, Hlam…all of us were mere chesspawns on a board…and for a brief second, before my growing migraine blotted out all thought and I sank back to my pillow, unconscious, the god granted me the vision of seeing the board, even.

I stood there, in the place where the queen normally was, in glowing plate armor of white, raising a sword flashing silver in my hand, against a towering figure of a dark King, reaching towards me with a clawed hand, eyes burning like coals of hate…

And I heard the god's voice from above me, booming like the bells of the evening service of His temple, amplified a hundredfold:

"_**Chosen of the Even-Handed…"**_


	20. I Forgot To Tell You

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**Disclaimers:**

**1.English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections; I give my due thanks to those who already have done so. It really helps me to get better, so please feel free to leave a review.**

**2.There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things.**

**3.For this chapter the following songs were playing, lending inspiration_: Monastery of La Rabida _from Vangelis'_ 1492 soundtrack; Keep On Givin' _from Wendi Slaton's_ Worthy; _and _I Love You _from Sarah McLachlan's _Surfacing ._ **

**4.As always, I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… Arrighan is entirely my fault, though.**

**Chapter Twenty**

I spent that night at the Temple; a cracked vertebra is a cracked vertebra, a migraine is a migraine, and I was in no shape to argue with _both _of those terrible old men when they insisted that I stay under their watchful eye. Hlam had one of the acolytes run to the Flagon with a message for my uncle to stop worrying. Typically Tyrran in both its brevity and the simplicity of what it did and did _not_ say, the message conveyed that 'important church matters' made me spend the night and will be back by the morning. I was relatively sure that should be sufficient to calm both my fretting uncle and Sand, my fretting legal defender. The wizard, if our sea voyage was any way to judge, was increasingly more concerned about whether I make it to Castle Never on the morning of the trial. I would not have been surprised if he cast a continuous Detect Poison on everything in Duncan's kitchen that night, and probably had Casavir run a loop of Detect Evil too, just to be double sure.

They moved me to the guest room that was set up for out-of-town important visitors; next to the prior's own rooms in the residence wing of the Halls of Justice, it boasted an actual bed with real quilts and pillows, a simple desk with an armchair, a chest, a small altar in the corner, and a wide window that opened to one of the cloister yards dedicated to morning devotions and practices.

The familiar noises of that (chanting and dull thuds of practice weapons) and the discreet but firm knocking on my door woke me up in the morning. I was still so groggy from sleep and healing magic that I did not think straight. In my dream I was home in West Harbor, and the memory was so fresh that I slid out of the bed, padded barefoot to the door and opened it, with eyes still closed, thinking it was Amie and Bevil, my old friends in the morning of the Harvest Cup coming to our house to pick me up, just like it happened months ago. Back then, I was just as sleepy as now—I spent most of the night in prayers for Aevan's return after he failed to show up in the spring as usual.

"M…mhm?" I managed through a jaw-cracking yawn as the door swung open.

"Good morning, sunshine." Even that sounded like something Bevil would say, so when I opened my eyes just a bit more, I made a startled yelp and jumped back a little. A sweetly smiling Sand was _not_ something I wanted as the first thing greeting my eyes in the morning.

"We are but humble supplicants, bringing the gift of coffee…" he started, then his eyebrows went way up as he looked me up and down. "Dear girl, far be from me to be your advisor in these matters as well," he paused, "but perhaps you should put on something a bit less… clingy before you receive visitors?"

"Shit, Sand, if it bothers you this much, you should have announced yourself…" I never liked to wake up suddenly, and to wake up suddenly staring into his face realizing that I only have my short undershirt and undertrews on... Realizing said wizard is not alone just compounded on the problem. Realizing Casavir was standing right behind said wizard just about topped everything.

_To the hells with it, can this get any worse anyway? I start the day with cussing, sleep through my morning devotions time, my hair looks like a pack of rabid weasels had an orgy in it, I am wearing the exact set of underwear that always was a bit tight across the chest... and this is the morning of mornings when **he **has to see me?_

"I will…wait outside, my lady." I had to realize that I've never actually seen a man blush as much as he did. And he was almost ten years my senior. Good grief. "I think Sand has…something important…I'll be in the chapel…"

"Sure, I'll see you there…" I said, vaguely aware that he was already retreating at a speed; even the back of his neck was red. "And good morning…" I called after him a bit louder.

"I don't think he heard you, dear." Sand said, with a slight smile on his face. "In fact, I hope he does notice that pillar there…"He glanced over his shoulder. "Oops! No, he didn't." he announced to the world in general, then turned back to me. "Well, can I come in and will you get this out of my hand? I got news."

"Might as well." I grabbed the cup he was holding, vaguely wondering from where he managed to conjure it from… (_come on, Rig, he's a wizard_, _maybe he really has a Summon Coffee spell,_ it fluttered through my mind), then shambled back to my bed, sat down cross-legged on the mattress and pulled the quilt over my shoulders and into my lap, arranging it in a suitably demure fashion.

"You know, I am not sure I am allowed a male visitor in here, but maybe if we leave the door open…"I mumbled, trying to get my hair out of my face—a futile exercise I nevertheless pursued relentlessly every morning.

"Whatever you say, dear girl, whatever you say." He bounced in, looking so fresh and awake I could have just hurled the cup in my hand at him, but it was full, so I refrained from violence. It was coffee, after all. His robes looked freshly laundered and pressed, his hair pulled into a tight club at the nape of his neck. The ribbon holding it matched the trim of his robes. He examined one perfect set of nails on his right hand as he continued. "And before you ask, your Father Prior himself handed that cup to me as we passed the refectory, saying how without this we would surely be killed if we wake you. Possibly maimed in a gruesome fashion as well. Given how I am reasonably sure the good knight and I both equally value our…"

"I get the idea, Sand." I tried not to resemble the crimson of my aura. "I am sure you are exaggerating a bit on what Prior Hlam…"

"Quoted almost word by word, I swear."

"He knows me too well, too…"I tried to let the aroma of coffee clear my head as I took my first sip.

"Sorry…find a place to sit, please …" I attempted a smile and a reasonably polite voice. "I need to wake up, but until that happens, you can tell me what are those news that made you get up so early in the morning."

Sand popped himself up on the windowsill.

"Nice view." he remarked casually. Said window opened to the cloister walk. "It seems there are a lot of novices in the Halls of Justice this year…"

I turned as I sat: yes, those noises I heard earlier in my half-dreaming state were definitely from morning devotional exercise.

"I suppose you have no objection to see _those_ half-clad servants of Tyr, then?" I remarked somewhat dryly. Some of the novices out there were not wearing armor, only tight and short training tunics and pants as they went through the motions. A couple of them stood right by my window: two girls, maybe eighteen, long hair braided, faces all frozen in concentration as they traded punches and kicks. Tyr's fighting monks.

Sand shrugged and turned back to the room.

"Beauty should be admired wherever we see it. That much at least I still have from my people's teachings."

"I guess I've been told, then." I smiled into my mug. "Given that you practically ordered me to cover myself…" Word-sparring with Sand was always a sure way to wake me up, I had to learn these past couple of days.

"She wounds me." Sand clutched at his heart, theatrically. "I should have heeded my papa's advice: never, ever try to praise a woman's beauty in front of another."

I smirked. The idea of young Sand getting the stern lecture as a teenager was…disconcerting, shall I say, the least. _And were elves ever teenagers, anyway?_ I wondered. Growing up with Daeghun Farlong that was a natural question to ask, but not from Sand. Elanee, perhaps.

"So…" I finished the coffee and put the cup on the little stand next to the bed. "Since now I know this is not a call to admire me in my morning finery…to what do I owe the honor…?"

"Ah." Sand spread his hands in a graceful arc. "Do you wish a chronicle of events leading up to us being here or just the purpose stated?"

"Sand!" I groaned. "You wake me up from a rather nice dream, make snide remarks about my attire and appearance, ogle the novices of my order in a _most_ inappropriate fashion, and then start to speak like we are already at the trial? Just get on with it!"

"I am afraid your Father Prior should have given me two cups of this vile brew." said Sand sourly. "You are prickly beyond belief in the morning." He sighed. I made a move as if I was ready to dive for my sword, then grabbed my quilt just in time to stop it from sliding on the floor.

"By the way, nice lace." Sand remarked. "Anyhow…to make a long story short: that novice sent back to the Flagon last evening to calm your uncle did have the desired effect except that your brother in Tyr out there…" he made one of his more complicated hand gestures, "…_insisted _on getting out and to the Temple straightaway where he, apparently, spent the night in prayers. I found him in front of the main altar when I was let in at last. I had to bang on the door for what really seemed forever—one would think the Even-handed opens his doors early to allow sinners to repent."

"What?" I leaned forward. "Casavir was here? In the Temple?"

"That's what I just said." Sand looked at me with narrowed eyes. "You two did not meet, I take it."

I shook my head.

"No…I…I was having a …conversation with Prior Hlam and Judge Oleff…"

"The High Justiciar himself?" Sand whistled; that was more in-character for the dockside charlatan persona than for the elven court wizard. "It is impressive, dear girl, that you try to line up those who can be favorably disposed towards your case so earnestly, but pray tread carefully. If Torio realizes you had secret negotiations with the judge who supposed to be presiding over the case…"

"I thought _Lord Nasher _was to preside over the case." I said impatiently. "I was not trying to influence the High Justiciar, Sand…he is a cleric of Tyr, and he happened to be with Father Prior when I…asked for an audience, that's all."

"If you say so, child." Sand was examining his nails again. "Now, I am not sure what that 'important church matter' was that sent our dear Casavir into such a tizzy that he had to run straight here and prostrate himself for all night in front of your god, but the fact that he _did_ really made it plain that the message was actually for him and not for your uncle. Poor man. He is rather transparent that way, I am afraid—but so are most paladins, I must say. I suppose he'd have turned out differently had he stayed just another pretty noble boy—his father was a grand schemer and masterful at hiding what he thought, felt or planned."

I clutched at my head. I really hoped for a better morning. Instead, I just felt like I got plunged back to that nauseating state I was in before I came to the Temple.

Because of course, I suspected why Casavir spent the night prostrated in front of the main altar. That was one of the lesser punishments for transgression against obedience meted out by one's supervisor in the Order.

I shook my head ruefully. Well, he spent the night there on the stone, I got a cracked vertebra and a migraine for trying to cold-knock Father Prior and the High Justiciar. I guessed we were even in the grand scheme of things.

_Some Chosen of Tyr and her Champion_…If this didn't prove that the gods have some rather odd kind of humor, nothing did.

"Sand…you came here to wake me up to trade _gossip_?" I desperately tried to prevent him from connecting dots where I already drew an entire picture and colored it, too.

He opened his eyes at me; I swear he even fluttered eyelashes.

"Me? Gossip? Far be from it, dear…I came to give you one last update on the case and tell you that you have an appointment at a certain Hassim's shop later today."

"Appointment?" Hassim was the Rashemi merchant Neeshka took me what seemed to be an eternity ago. "What on earth for?"

"Gown for the trial, my dear, of course." Sand clapped his hands. "Don't look at me like that, you'll have to look stunning…after all, this will be a society event, almost. It's not every day a Squire of Neverwinter, Lieutenant of the Watch and Servant of Tyr, all the same person, is accused of mass murder."

I was speechless for a couple of seconds. When I finally managed to talk, my voice was a bit strained.

"Are you saying this is…treated as _theatre_? The mass murder of an entire village? Some kind of a…show?"

"Dear, I was trying to tell you this for days now." Sand made a face and got up from the windowsill, suddenly serious. "If you chose not to listen, it is high time now. Welcome to high politics in Neverwinter. Of course this will be theatre. _Everything_ Torio Claven is involved in is theatre. Everything Nasher's High Justice is involved is theatre. It's show, it's drama, it's something to talk about during the long winter months, something to pass the time by. Rituals of politics, rituals of nobility, rituals of power…especially here, especially now." He sat down next to me on the bed, gesticulating. "The balance is rather precarious after the recent peace treaty with Luskan, and us just recovering from rebuilding the city proper. Order from chaos, peace and prosperity, trade routes reopening…the populace craves these things, and, moreover, they crave entertainment with it. Everything you do, everything you say will be watched, recorded and remembered. The outcome of that trial shall create waves that will reverberate all across the Sword Coast and beyond." He paused, steepled his fingers, his eyes watching me intently for a reaction. "So, needless to say, you were watched and followed yesterday from the Flagon to here, and the assassins who were sent after you as a last desperate attempt were successfully dispatched by Sir Darmon of the Nine and Vale of the Many-Starred Cloaks." He frowned. "She is really rather desperate, Torio is, to resort to such direct action. Our witnesses are all lined up, just like hers, but that attempt clearly indicates she does not have enough…shall we say, 'oomph' to her case?"

"Darmon and Vale…" I held my hand up. "Hold it, I am trying to keep up here. I met Darmon, I think…Tall, dark, long hair in ponytail, dry humor, does not take himself seriously, likes to pop into the Flagon occasionally?" Sand nodded. "Shadowing me?"

"By Nevalle's orders, yes. I don't think you met Vale yet, and that is just the way it should be. If you do..." He shrugged. "…that usually means you either won't live too long, or that you are doing something insane and crazy on Nasher's behalf and he is the one sent backing you up. He is the most…unorthodox of the Many-Starred Cloaks, and that's all I am going to say for now. That is, I am not permitted to say more, Arrighan, I am sorry." He looked at me almost apologetically. "You do know I work for them, but I am not particularly high up on the ladder…and what I am allowed and not allowed to say is strictly limited. Even to you."

"Spies and agents and secret plots." I sighed. "Assassins following me on the streets, them followed by wizards…This is _so _out of my league, Sand." I felt some sympathy for him the first time, and made a firm decision not to make his life any more difficult. "So…you say I am to wear a _gown_ for the trial? I thought my armor would be…"

"Dear, don't be ridiculous." _So much for me not making his life difficult_. "No armor…can you imagine what Torio would make of that as a demonstration of your ultimate arrogance? No, for this, you need to appear like the shining example of virtue and above reproach, simple but irresistible, radiant but not overwhelming, humble yet noble..." His hands were making graceful arcs in the air. " Your friends contacted Hassim and since he already has your measurements, and that chief seamstress of his is something wicked with her magic needle and scissors…"Sand shuddered a bit, "…the gown should be ready by tomorrow, but you'll need one fitting, at least. "

He took a breath: I suspected he finally arrived to the real reason why he came—or rather, why he was _sent_.

"One more thing… and this is a direct quote from Sir Nevalle of the Nine: _I don't want you to go alone anywhere from this point_." The wizard shrugged. "I got the feeling he'd much rather if you'd stayed put at the Flagon for today and tomorrow, but somehow I don't think you will do that. So _please_, dear girl, take someone with you wherever you go. "He stood up. "I need to see to our witnesses who arrive today. For obvious reasons, they will be housed separately, and in locations not disclosed to anyone. They all will be closely guarded and watched…the Nine's resources will be spread thin, hence their Captain's request to take muscle with you. Whether that is the dwarf, the paladin, or your lady friend with the short sword, Nevalle doesn't care, and neither do I. If I were you, I would go everywhere with _all_ of them, including the druid and the rogue. " He grimaced. "Except, maybe, the ranger. I noticed he does not get along well with any of you…not sure why you or Duncan keep him around, anyway…but that's none of my business. "He patted my hand again. "Just promise me you'll be a good paladin and take care of yourself and I'll be off."

Now _that_ was ironic. I winced at the memory of the pain lancing through me.

"I just happened to…receive an object lesson about obedience last night, Sand, so…yes, I will do as I am told." I attempted to smile. "I'll just…get dressed and start my day, then."

"You do that, dear." Sand looked back at me from the door. "I'll send word to the _Flagon _if anything happens, and will be there by the evening. Don't forget to collect your brother in Tyr from that chapel on your way out: I think he wanted to have a word with you…"

"And so did I." I muttered to the door as it closed behind him. "So did I."

The side chapels of the Halls of Justice in Neverwinter were visited by many of our faith from all over Faerun for their beauty and the power they contained. Of course, I realized as soon as I stepped out of the room that Casavir never actually told us _which_ chapel he'll be waiting in. So I passed the graceful wrought iron gates of several, genuflecting and making the sign of the sword every time I carefully checked the inside.

Like feathers on a pair of wings, each chapel arched out from the aisles, built as additions to the main Temple over the centuries. Domiel the Mercy-Bringer's gold-gilded shrine was lit with candles as there was a sister praying there, wearing the ash-gray of a penitent. Raziel's chapel had two brothers in dust-streaked full battle armor bearing the obvious signs of long travel, just lighting the two candelabras standing there, dedicated to the Archon of Battles. I passed by the silent shrines of Pistis Sophia, Sealtiel, Erathaol and Barachiel. Zaphkiel's chapel was hidden from sight by a pair of shimmering curtains humming with some kind of sacred spell, so I knew there was some private service going on. I passed two more: one to the Merciful Sword of Tyr, the other to the Holy Judgement, both empty.

At last, I found him, kneeling in front of the pure silver-wrought frieze of the altar at the Chapel of Our Lord's Sufferings for the Justly Saved. It was the chapel reserved to those holding voluntary solitary vigils, and the one I spent my last one just after he returned to the city with me.

I stopped slightly behind him, just inside the door left ajar, careful not to disturb. Eyes steadily focused on the main frieze, his profile was composed and serene, but suffused with some deep sadness that brought a short, stabbing pain into my chest that dulled to a steady throb and remained while I stood there waiting for his prayer to end. His cheekbones were etched with deep, dark shadows; that, with the stiffness of his back and the way he shifted his weight all spoke of the sleepless night he spent on the cold, unyielding marble in front of the main altar.

At last, he made the sign of the sword and stood, but remained there, with his head hung, shoulders heaving with a heavy sigh.

"You look troubled." The words came to my lips unbidden. I was not sure what compelled me to speak. Maybe that dull pain behind my breastbone, so close to where the silver shard—or my heart—has lain. Maybe seeing his own pain, so clear behind that shimmer of the god's light on his face, made me to reflect on all the things that happened lately and what was just ahead of me…and maybe in the light of all that, my own anger at him worshipping me like a living relic of a power he was so utterly devoted to was not worth as much as I thought before.

After all, Judgment was His, not mine—that was made crystal clear in that blinding white vision of beautiful agony when His power bent me, used me, broke and then reknit me last night.

"Is everything…all right?" I asked as he looked at me, startled, his pupils narrowing as if they tried to take in some sudden light. "I heard from Sand that you…spent the night at the altar. I am sorry if I…" I took a deep breath. "If I happened to offend…"

He shook his head and then sat down heavily in the single pew on the side; I recalled, with painful clarity, my conversation with Prior Hlam about him, sitting at the exact same place.

"Will you…sit with me a while, my lady?" he asked, eyes suspended on the altar statue. "I need to speak with you, and it's best done here."

"Gladly." I nodded, even though he couldn't see it. I squeezed myself in the pew. Just like I had to realize with Prior Hlam, this seat really was meant for either two very skinny acolytes or one full battle-clad paladin. As neither of us were wearing our armor but neither of us could have been called skinny, it was a bit cozy, but not uncomfortable. "What is it?" I asked after a couple of minutes in silence. I did not want to make him feel I did not care.

He started to speak, then stopped, and visibly checked himself. The swirl of his aura that I could feel clearly now, being so close to him, spoke of deep undercurrents of the same sadness and inner turmoil I saw on his face. It was startling to see him like this, always in control, always calm, always the rock I could rely on.

"I…I am loyal to you. Do not doubt this." The words came out in a rush, somewhat hoarse, reminding me that night at the Mask, the night when he spoke of his shame, his past, the betrayal of his vows. For a second I had a fleeting but intense feeling that this was _not _what he originally intended to say.

I was about to speak up, telling him that it was never in question, not since our first conversation in my uncle's yard, but he continued on, still not looking at me, as if that somehow made it easier for him.

"But there are times when I find that my…duty comes second. " He pronounced the word 'duty' with a bitter edge to it. "You must know that I do not wish such feelings to place you in jeopardy."

"Duty comes second. " I repeated, confused. The formality of what he said recalled that vow he made me, the one that was so much like the oath of fealty to a lord. Is that what he doubted now? "You told me that obedience and duty are…"

"I do not mean insult by this, my lady, understand, please." I was having a feeling he barely heard what I was saying. "I know you are more than capable…in combat and elsewhere. But yet…I find myself turning to you, and seeing to your safety before anyone else's. I have doubts about my…abilities to act as a member of a group. I am worried that others may suffer based on my decisions."

Goodness. I was…not prepared for this. I was not even a cleric, yet it seemed lately everyone wanted me to be their confessor.

_Is this part of Your plan_? I asked silently the god, but no answer came. I was on my own, this time.

After last night, I did not particularly mind, of course. Constant presence of the divine was something I was not sure I could deal with.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked carefully. I tried to recall conversations with Aevan, my handful of confessions in the City, anything that might help me here. "Is it because of some vows you made, a promise—to me or to your superiors? Or your desire to atone for your pride before you left the city? Or do you see me for…" I swallowed, trying to clad into words that sickening feeling in my stomach while holding that ebony box, _without_ letting him know that I saw it, "…more than I really am, setting me above my companions, or my rightful place?" He finally tore his gaze off the altar and looked at me, so I kept my gaze and my tone even, although it was hard. "Or are you saying you have…feelings for me?"

"Of course I wish to protect you!" His nostrils flared: my, there was a temper there! I had to force myself to remain silent and unmoving; I could feel my aura retreat and almost shrink from the flare of silver-and-blue that seemed to fill the entire chapel for a second. "It is…difficult, this thing, to follow you, my lady." he continued in a more measured tone, his hands clasped in front of him tightly. "There is much to… admire. You are one of the planetouched, marked twice by our god at birth, and…it is clear to me that you have some destiny to fulfill that is yet unrevealed, even to you. You are a leader, and your actions are inspiring to us all, as they should be." I could almost see how his own words forced an iron-clad rim of control over his swirling aura, and how that, in turn, calmed his tone, made it more even, back to its everyday tones. He had such remarkable self-control… I've never seen the like of it before.

"And, on a personal note, I owe you even more than that." he said to his knuckles, stubbornly returning to the habit of not looking at me. "You helped me to put certain matters in my heart and mind to rest. I have a debt to you, a quelling of doubt that I cannot repay, except with service."

I knew I was not cut out to be a confessor, and would never be. I said the first thing that came to my mind, yet again.

"Casavir…you really need to relax." I reached out and patted his hand, in a very Sand-like gesture I did not realize I was doing until I withdrew my hand. Then it would just have looked awkward to do anything about it, so I decided to pretend it never happened and kept pressing onward. "I did not notice that anyone from the group was complaining about you trying to keep me together while in Ember, or healing up Khel after the githyanki attack, or helping to make Alaine speak in Port Llast. " I smiled. "Even Neeshka is happy with you being with us, now that you two discovered you have the same favorite street vendor. We…like you, you know. Even though you can be awfully…noble, sometimes." He still wouldn't look at me. I rested my forehead on my own hands for a second, breathing deeply from the incense-laden air and trying to decide whether I completely screwed this one up or not.

"I am not much of a help, am I?" I asked, voice muffled by my hands.

"More than you would think. "came the quiet reply. I turned my head sideways to look up at him. "You may be right. About me….relaxing, as you put it."

There was a faint hint of a smile on his face, small and hesitant, but rare and sweet and somehow different from all of his other smiles.

The urge to reach out and touch his face for the sheer wonder of it was so very strong suddenly...

"I am… supposed to see the merchant Hassim today, I think…" I whispered. For some reason I could not take my eyes away from his; I heard my voice as if through some kind of haze. It was quiet in the chapel, all of a sudden quite, quite warm, and I became acutely aware the way our shoulders, sides and thighs pressed together in the narrow pew…

I desperately cast around for something to say. I was not sure what was happening. Or rather I was… but just did not want to acknowledge it, or couldn't.

"Maybe a breakfast would also be good…"

_When did he get that close?_

Those impossibly blue eyes clouded for the briefest of seconds with some emotion I could not decipher, then Casavir nodded.

"Perhaps best if that breakfast takes place at the Flagon, my lady. Your uncle…it would be good if you could see him today, I think." He paused. "Before I left the inn last night, he …"

"He what?" I slid out of the pew; the aloof celestial part of me was furiously screaming at the other which wanted to just stay there for a long time, to see what happens. That's probably why my voice was a bit more shrill than necessary. Inner turmoil and slightly uncontrolled breathing…_yes, maybe if I just turned towards the altar and kept my prayers running that would help._

"What happened, did the Flagon catch fire?" I said, sounding slightly preoccupied.

"Not exactly, no." He sounded distinctly uncomfortable. I spun around.

"Did Qara do something? I swear, if she lost her temper _again, _I go back there and…"

"I really shouldn't have said anything until you can talk to Duncan, my lady." He shook his head. "I think…he and Shandra…"

"Ye gods." I sat back to the pew; my legs got weak under me. "Neeshka and I were joking about that just before I left but I did not think…" I fought really hard to suppress the urge to giggle furiously in the Chapel of Just Suffering, but I lost the battle, and badly. Casavir looked at me, puzzled, while I pressed my hands on my mouth.

"Sorry." I explained when I could speak again. "I am so very sorry…You are right, I really should hear this from the horse's mouth." I got up and linked my arm in his with sudden determination. " Shall we go, then? I don't think that Tyr would condone me laughing my behind off in His chapel."


	21. The Sweetest Lady

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**Disclaimers:**

**1.English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections; I give my due thanks to those who already have done so. It really helps me to get better, so please feel free to leave a review.**

**2.There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things.**

**3.For this chapter the following songs were playing, lending inspiration_: Oltremare _from Ludovico Einaudi's _Divenire, _and two delightful little piecesfrom the soundtrack of_ Much Ado About Nothing _by Patrick Doyle: _Did I Not Tell You _and _The Sweetest Lady._**

**4.As always, I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… Arrighan is entirely my fault, though.**

**Chapter Twenty-One**

"Son of a…!" The piece of bacon burnt my mouth hard enough that I had to exclaim out loud, but fortunately had enough self-control to stop it in time. _I probably already offended the god enough for one day_, I thought grimly. The first thing that came out of my mouth right after I opened my eyes was a cussword instead of prayer…adding to that, I definitely had unclean thoughts in front of the _altar_ in His chapel of all places. Continuing the day by cussing while eating in the company of the selfsame person who inspired those very thoughts would _not_ have been a wise move.

So I just grabbed my fork and knife and applied them on my bacon and eggs with unnecessary force while glaring at the plate with the zealous determination of a crusader.

"Careful there, my lady." Casavir warned, with mild amusement on his face. "However much you insist, that plate is not a target substitute for proper blade alignment."

"Yeah, I am aware of that. "I muttered, shoveling food into my mouth, and not caring if he disapproved of my eating habits. _Nobles_. "And I am trying to calm down." I glared at him, seeing that raised eyebrow. "Paladin's honor, I do. But…" I waved my fork towards the bar. "That's just…"

I didn't quite understand why I was so upset. Intellectually I was perfectly fine with the thought of my uncle having an affair. He was a nice enough man when he did not drink too much ale (lately I noticed that those occasions were more and more rare), and he had a good heart behind that all-business façade he liked to keep up. I was even amused by the possibility—didn't I just joke about this with Neeshka yesterday, and then giggled inwardly practically all the way back from the Temple to the _Flagon_? And I _liked _Shandra, and she was so lonely and forlorn after she lost everything in that fire, and more than once in the past I noticed how Duncan looked at her and how she looked at him…

Yet, as I watched the two of them working next to each other at the bar now, Duncan restocking kegs and bottles, Shandra cleaning some mugs and glasses, wearing a much cuter version of Qara's barmaid outfit, seeing their eyes lit up as they looked at each other, their smiles, the way their shoulders brushed together every now and then…I could not help but felt something constrict in my chest. They looked so…for the lack of better words, domestic, and homey and happy—that entire scene should have filled me with light and smiles. Instead all I felt is some kind of gray bitterness creeping towards my heart and a little voice whispering '_you will never have that, never, never, never…'_

I pushed my plate away from me and stood, losing all desire to continue.

"I think I am done with this." I tried not to show what ate at me, and could only hope I succeeded. Or hopefully he thought it was the trial. "I need to talk to Wolf about something, then I guess I am off to Hassim's shop for a fitting…provided I can find someone to come with me. Sand made me promise I'll be a good girl and don't walk around alone."

"And I don't suppose you want to ask Shandra along just now." Casavir put his fork down and nodded. He sounded so darned _understanding_! I gritted my teeth. However, he was exactly right. I did not desire Shandra's company, not the least, not right now. "Well, luckily for you, my lady, Elanee is here…" he glanced at the table where my druidess was busy scribbling on a piece of parchment, "…and she's sitting with Neeshka, too. That should be suitable company for a…khm…dress fitting, I think." He dabbed on his lips with the napkin Duncan provided and continued, thoughtfully. "Of course, if I recall my conversation with Sand that no doubt he continued with you as well, you are supposed to take, and I quote, 'muscle' with you, too. " He put the napkin, neatly folded, down to the middle of his empty plate, before continuing. "Since our esteemed Khelgar is out and about updating some armor parts, and I am somewhat uncomfortable with the notion of the ranger as an escort for three ladies…" He leaned back on his chair . "I guess it will be my knightly duty to make sure no harm befalls you today."

_Did he really say that_? I looked at him and I caught a tiny twitch of a smile in the corner of his lips that in the next second reached his eyes.

_Oh gods, he really is smiling at me_…I felt my heartbeat speed up and there was this strange fluttering feeling in my stomach...

"Oooo, just like olden times!" Neeshka proved, yet again, that she was not averse to listening in on conversations. "So: when are we going?" She bounced up, grabbed my arm, pulling on it repeatedly, like a small child.

I sighed. Patience was a virtue I apparently had to learn to cultivate fast because no one else seemed to have it here.

_Fine. I can do patience. How long does it take?_

"First, you need to stop acting like you were my unruly kid, Neesh, because if you keep doing that arm-pulling, I'll just have to spank you." I waved my other hand, the one that did not have a tiefling hanging from it. "And it would be self-defense, too."

"I am _so_ not saying the obvious now, Rig." The rogue let go, but her freckles all started dancing at the same time as she grinned a really wicked smile. "Do you see how obviously I am not saying the obvious, Casavir?"

"I obviously have no way I can follow you there." he answered and stood up, face schooled back to impassive. "And so it shall remain."

"No good tiefling rogue points from my two favorite paladins, then?" Neeshka pouted, looking from one of us to the other.

"I never doubted that your heart is gold." Casavir said, and Neeshka's face lit up. "But therein lies the problem, you see?" This time I could distinctly see twinkles in his eyes. "Gold naturally is attracted to its likeness—which explains, of course, how you fell into bad company and became a rogue. Hopefully that soon will be just a bad dream of the past." Neeshka just stared: mini-sermons like that I already inflicted on her a couple dozen times during our travels from Fort Locke to Neverwinter until she was blue in the face.

Casavir now turned to me, with one of his small formal bows.

"My lady, since this is going to be not only a social call or mere stroll, I would suggest armoring yourself. From now on, till your trial's day, you shall not go about merely carrying a sword. I shall do the same."

"How does he do that?" Neeshka sighed, watching him scaling the steps. "Everything he says, by right and nature, should make me want to either puke or backstab him. Every single thing, I swear. Not to mention that aura of insane goodness, which, _especially _together with yours, for all intents and purposes should drive me nuts." She shook her head. "And instead, after talking to him, I just sit and think and realize how stupid I really used to be …" She glanced at me, still standing, still looking. "It's kinda like when you and I first met, actually, except …"She cleared her throat. "Um…Rig?"

"Yes, Neesh?"

"I know I used to accuse you of drooling at the sight of him, but…"

"Hmmm?"

"It's just…you really should close your mouth."

I think I managed a suitably lofty expression. At least I thought I did until she turned and waved at Elanee.

"El…I think she needs an extra dosage of that herbal thing of yours."

That returned me to reality rather sharply.

"Neesh, why don't you go outside and shout it on the street too, please? "I picked up my cloak from my chair, and hoped that some tattered remnants of my dignity could still be restored as I draped it around my shoulder. Even though Duncan did not open the Flagon until later in the day, so there was no one around I did not know, I felt embarrassed. I really started to lose control, and that was something I just couldn't afford. "See you back here."

"Prickly, prickly." Neeshka did not seem to be insulted. "By the way, I got a really good bottle of wine stashed away, too…if you care for some girl-talk tonight."

I grunted noncommittally and started up on the stairs. _I'll probably need that_, _the way things go,_ I thought.

Just then, Wolf trotted by, carrying some pails of water so I waved at him to follow me.

"Just the person I needed to talk." I told him. "All is in order?"

"Sure is, lady." he grinned. His clothes were spotless and well-mended, if worn, he had real shoes and even wore a belt with a pouch and a knife on it. I was glad to see that. "Whaddya need?" His manners and dialect, though, did not change much since I first saw him on the streets.

I looked around.

"First of all—where is the new boy?" I asked quietly.

He looked at me blankly for a moment, then winked conspiratorially, as if he realized who was asking the question.

"Jus' for you, lady…he's in the kitchen. The wizard said he's not to go to the stables or outside, or even amongst the patrons when the Inn's open."

I smiled inwardly at the thought of Sand thinking I will not figure out where he was going to hide Marcus until the trial.

"Smart move, Sand." I murmured. Then, louder: "That's good, Wolf, keep it that way. Did the wizard tell you who he is?"

"To me, yes." Wolf beamed with pride. "To everyone else he's just another urchin from the Docks…"He looked around and lowered his voice. "Don't fret, lady, we'll make sure he'll be jus' fine. He'll sleep in the kitchen and when that stupid trial starts we'll make sure he gets up to the castle in no time and safe besides. No one pays attention to a bunch of street kids runnin' around. Master Sand says he'll leave word at the gate so Marcus can get in."

I nodded. That was all arranged, then. As much as I wanted to see him and make sure he was all right, I understood Sand's unspoken message: Marcus was here to hide, not for me to try to mother-hen him.

"Anythin' else?" Wolf asked. ""Cos I need to get goin' with my chores." He slapped his forehead. "Yeah, before I forget…your laundry was done and it should be in your room. Shandra, I hope you don't mind, grabbed it from your pack last night while you were in the Temple and gave the stuff to Vana."

"No, that's fine." I tried to sound completely neutral, as I continued—this was a perfect opening to ask him about my little problem. "Which actually reminds me, Wolf… remember that night the Flagon was attacked? "He nodded. "What with all the traveling and the things happening lately I just had time to think and remember that I had my one good nightgown all blooded up that night…I wrote out a little note to whoever was doing the laundry that week to see if it can be salvaged but somehow I never got to ask again…" I smiled, a bit shyly. "It's just that I kind of liked the lace on it…"

My heart gave a dull thud at the sight of guilt spreading out on Wolf's face.

"'m sorry." he mumbled. "I hoped you wouldn't ask…"'m gonna get killed, but I shoulda thought you'd figure it out sooner or later…"

"Wolf, what are you talking about?" I asked, a bit befuddled. Surely there was something there, especially to see just how shaken he looked over this all of a sudden…

"It's just that we…" He shrugged, resigned. "No use for hidin' it now, I'll just let everyone know you figured us out. We meant it as a present… The girls even scavenged up other pieces of stuff that got blooded or torn …" He tugged at his hair and frowned. "We just thought you might like something that reminded you of us and everyone else here at the Flagon. Them is making you a quilt, lady…it's almost done, but we try to get pieces from everyone and that's slow. Sorry you couldn't find your thing, but honest, we're jus' happy you didn't even notice it was gone."

"Oh." I felt a bit stupid. "So…you Irregulars took it, then?"

"Yeah…" He nodded. "Vana and Meg were workin' on it, mostly, on account of them doing the laundry most of times."

"That was a…really sweet idea." I swallowed. "I tell you what: I promise not to tell that I know about it, how's that? That way I won't spoil their efforts." Who would have thought they were doing something like that? I was moved.

"That's mighty kind of you, lady." he said with a relieved grin. "'specially as it might've looked like we just filched it."

"Well, you obviously didn't." I patted his head absent-mindedly. He didn't particularly like that, I knew, but I just couldn't resist, and there was no one else there to see it, so his dignity didn't get hurt. He took his dignity very seriously, did Wolf. "Thank you, again. I'll let you go back to your chores, I have mine as well."

"Smiting evil again, eh, lady?" He grinned, ducked my hand and ran back to his pails of water.

Odd, that. I pondered for a while as I let myself into my room. _So if the Irregulars took my nightgown and cut it all up for quilt squares, I wonder how did he_…I shook my head. I made a promise not to dwell on that, back at the Temple, and here I was again. My all-too inquisitive mind was at work. I really should divert those energies into preparing myself for the trial and the inevitable challenge of exchanging barbed words with the Luskan ambassador instead.

I looked at the neat stacks of laundry on my bed, and realized that I was _really _going to have an actual gown fitting. The logical extension of that followed, gripping my stomach with its cold claws, more so than any dread caused by monsters: that meant stripping in front of a bunch of seamstresses including that horrible old crone who could 'tsk,tsk' like no one else I knew except maybe Sand. So that meant another bath, another change, before I could put on my armor, because really, when all was said and done, Sand was right: this set of underwear just wouldn't do, despite the nice lace.

Sometimes I really wanted nothing else but being back in West Harbor with the most exciting thing in my life being helping at a mare's foaling to soothe the pain. Multiple changing of clothes or even thinking about such things did not enter my word…I guessed now that I was a squire of Neverwinter, those things needed to be considered natural. And really, there was nothing I could do about it. The mere fact that I was even concerned over it signaled just how far I came since I left my home village.

So instead of dwelling on it too much, I folded most of the clean clothes back into my chest, grabbed yet another change and headed for the baths, where I was glad to discover that just because Uncle Duncan succeeded in the jousts of Love (to borrow a horrible phrase from one of those romances Amie used to be so fond of) he did not forget to tend to the magical apparatus producing hot water in the women's bath. After using up a considerable amount, I almost felt I was ready for just about anything, up to and including clunking through town in full plate accompanied by, yet again, an inexplicably cheerful Neeshka, a thoughtful Elanee and a neutrally and carefully polite Casavir.

Everyone was armed and armored to the teeth--Sand would have been proud. Judging by the protective swirl of Casavir's aura, Detect Evil was hard at work, too. I felt like we were down in those gith caves from which we rescued Shandra, not walking on the streets of the City of Skilled Hands. But either there was no plan out to attack me today, or our little demonstration of overkill worked. We reached Hassim's shop without anything more exciting happening but Neeshka introducing me to the wonders of roasted chestnuts she purchased from a street vendor who stood on a corner by her little cast-iron stove. As the weather was clear but cold that day, the little hot morsels were very welcome, once I figured out how to pop them out of their shells.

"I love these!" I announced after I dusted my palms off, finishing the last one just before the door.

"We could tell." Neeshka grinned. "That was the fastest I've ever seen anyone falling in love, whether with a man or food." She winked at me. "After seeing that, I definitely will _not _tell you or anyone else about a certain confectioner's shop in Blacklake." She shot an unmistakable look at Casavir who pretended he was not even there. He had to do that a lot since we left the Flagon. Neeshka was telling me details about Duncan and Shandra I really was not sure I needed to hear. Even Elanee's scowls were not enough to make her stop from going into rather intimate details. I did _not _want to think about how she knew some of them.

"Wicked temptress." I growled. "You do know my weaknesses."

"Traveled with you long enough." She shrugged gracefully. "But my lips are sealed. Pity, though." she sighed. "Their truffles are…divine. Not that I will ever find anyone who will get me some, they are rather pricey." She sniffed. "And I no longer can support my meager income by assisting rich and fat merchants to part from their purses, so…"

"You are shameless." Elanee pursed her lips. "Really…"

"Truth, only the truth." Neeshka said, sticking her tongue out. "I am on the path of righteousness with two holy warriors deciding I can be saved…oh, hello, Hassim, it's us again."

That last one was for the owner of the shop we just crowded into, who greeted us with a polite smile and his customary bow with arms crossed on his chest.

"It is always a delight when you light up my day with your presence, Daughter of Silent Steps." The merchant turned to me and he did not even bat an eye seeing all of us armed and armored to the teeth. "And you, my lady…Everything is arranged for you in the fitting room. If you would please follow me..."

I was ushered into the side room where the ancient seamstress and two of her assistants were waiting. Neeshka and Elanee followed.

"There." My tiefling stretched. "Now El and I can play squire and divest you of your armor while the gown is being brought forth." She looked at the ancient seamstress who was instructing her assistants in a hushed voice. After conferring for a while, the two scurried out through a back door.

"Hope Hassim has something to entertain Casavir with, this is going to take a while." Elanee frowned as she reached up to start loosening the buckles of my pauldrons.

"Oh, for sure." It was always fascinating to see how Neeshka used her tail as a third hand--and a little bit disorienting, too. "Can you imagine how many bored husbands come here with their wives to do nothing but sit in the waiting room, often for hours, while the wives discuss the latest fashion and choose fabrics?" Neeshka sighed. "And they _have _to come…since they are the ones who pay."

"I hope you are not saying that _he _means to pay for this!" I exclaimed, just as my breastplate came off with a clanging noise. I waved a hand vaguely towards where Hassim's waiting room was. "That would be…"

"Relax, Rig." The tiefling patted my shoulder. "Payment has already been arranged; you have other things to worry about concerning this trial." She finished unbuckling my back plate and it slid off. "Okay, I can see you are thinking way too much…what is it?"

"Because…I have the feeling I am treated here as a child?" I offered, trying not to show the incredulous anger that started to grow in me again. "Do you have any idea why I might have that feeling, Neesh?"

"Well, I am reasonably sure it's not because El and I are getting your armor off for you." she said in a light voice. Her eyes, though, were serious. "And we all know you can take care of yourself. We are just…well, you are always the one who gets us out of various troubles, right, El?" She looked at the elf, who nodded. "So now, with this trial business…" She tilted her head sideways, "…I think we feel we can give something back. Helping out, you know. Little things, nothing major, like Sand doing the defense or stuff…but we talked and everyone chipped in for this gown. Basically."

"Basically." I repeated. "And that would mean…?"

"Goodness, Rig, you are horrible!" she exclaimed. "You want a detailed breakdown of what do you own down to the least copper so you can pay us back, or what?" She glared at me, with her hands on her hips. "Can you just take it for what's worth, you know, token of friendship and all that stuff you keep talking about all the time?" She threw up her hand and turned to Elanee. "_You _say something, El, I'm ready to smack her if I keep going."

"You have to learn to receive, child, not just give all the time." Elanee turned to me, smiling slightly, voice calm and serious. "I know it's difficult, it's in your blood and was trained into you as well. But there are times when you need to accept others' help without asking for the opportunity to recompense them." She tapped my shoulder. "That's what friendship is about."

"It's in my blood." I repeated, slightly confused. "What do you mean?"

"You have celestial blood, dear." Elanee said. "The forces of good like to give…but very rarely learn to receive." She smiled. "I am the last one to give you lessons in theology, child, but you might want to contemplate that a bit when you have time."

Last time I felt like this, I was fourteen and I received a stern lecture from Retta Starling about why girls of my age don't climb trees in skirts. I mumbled something about how I will think about it, and that's when the two assistants came back.

"Get that off." The ancient crone barked at me with such ferocity that I had to step back. She shook a bony finger at me, then stepped closer and pinched the fabric of my jerkin between her finger. "Off! You can't try gown on top of this." I forgot just how atrociously strong her accent was.

"I'd do what she says, Rig." said Neeshka, winking. "Remember, last time…"

Yes, I did remember. Last time we were here and she took my measurements, those bony fingers poked at me incessantly, accompanied by her voice bidding me to stay still, to pull my shoulders back, to stand straight…

"I don't understand the fuss." I grumbled while starting to loosen the clasps of my jerkin. "It's just a gown, for pity's sake…"

"Just a gown, eh?" The old woman's black eyes sparkled. "Well, maybe someone else has other opinion, eh? Maybe we'll show it to someone once on, eh?"

"Can we just get this over with?" I whispered to Elanee. I started to feel like I'd much rater spend two nights face down on the cold marble of Tyr's temple than any more time here enduring all…

"Oooh." said Neeshka just then. "That's pretty!"

I turned. The two assistants were draping the gown on a couch, waiting for me to get my things off and step in it.

"See?" the ancient crone barked at me again, flashing a toothy grin. "Makes you look like angel, don't doubt."

It was more understated than I dreaded and more beautiful than I ever imagined, off-white with cream and gold vine-and pomegranate motifs woven into its bodice. I stared. I gulped. Elanee prodded me. Neeshka tapped my arm. I nodded, like a sleepwalker, finished getting my things off, lifted my arms, let them drape the gown over my shoulders. It had a deceptively simple cut, the neckline high and modest with gold lace at throat and cuffs, hugging me tight down to the hips and flaring out to a full skirt reaching the floor. Neeshka did the lacings up in the back, tied the ends, fussed with my hair, then let the old woman take over with her pins and measuring tape.

"Almost." the crone hummed, her fingers dancing with pins, needles and thread around my waist. "Just a bit more in here…lost weight, eh?" One of her assistants brought a footstool; she was so tiny she needed to stand on it to reach my shoulders. "And the shoulders… need to let out… too much sword work… mmm…" She kept humming, occasionally slipping into a dialect none of us understood, snapping at her assistants for more thread or needle from time to time. She seemed happier when working, somehow, the wrinkles on her face less deep, her eyes sparkling with a hidden fire. Neeshka and Elanee sat on the couch, watching her with something close to awe, and I understood. I could feel her magic as she flittered around me, almost like a small pixie, barking commands to her assistants, pinching the fabric between her fingers, her needles flashing with more than just the sunlight reflecting from them.

Finally, after what seemed hours, she climbed from her stool, stepped back and clapped her hands together.

"There." she announced. "You. Move now…turn around, like so." She twirled her fingers.

I obeyed. She narrowed her eyes, surveying me critically.

"Feels different, eh?"

"Feels like…" I stepped around, experimentally. "Feels like I have…nothing on."

"Hah!" The crone smiled. "Good. Light as feather, strong as steel, beautiful like heavens. Fabric Hassim gets, gown I make from fabric, is like person wearing it, when I do good work." She looked at Neeshka. "Right, eh?" She barked a command at one of her women who fled the room; I assumed to get some last-minute thing.

"I got out of some tight spots, thanks to you and your talents, Ancient One…" My tiefling grinned. "But with this one…wow, this is amazing." she breathed. "I never saw you wearing anything else but armor or military clothing, Rig…tell you what, if those at the High Court see you in this, the Claven woman and her stupid accusations don't stand a chance."

"Do you think this really makes that much of a difference?" I said, slightly worried and a bit embarrassed. Last time I had a dress on, it was back in West Harbor at one of the last Harvest Fairs. I ended up ripping it disastrously, getting into a fight when one of the teamsters coming into the village tried to be a bit too friendly with Amie. I hardly remembered how to move in one, and I told as much aloud now.

"I don't think you'll have any problems." Elanee assured me, smiling. "Once learned, you don't forget things like that."

"But this one is so…different." I made some experimental moves: crouch, spring, duck. "Very much nicer than anything I've ever had. And yet…it's like a second skin." The touch of the fabric on my skin was cool and soft, calming and reassuring somehow. I tried a feint. "Hmmm…I like that it does not have a train, and that the sleeves are not of that horrible dangling kind you see on some of the ladies around Blacklake." There was only a little flare-out at the wrists, trimmed in a thin ribbon of lace--the crone called it 'trumpet-sleeve'. "I wonder…" My two companions watched me with amusement as I spun around and tried a kick to the side. "Hey, it works!" I grinned back at them, tried a full spin this time, enjoying the feel of freedom. "Look, it's…oh."

That last kick and spin took me in front of the door that was filled with the fully armored figure of Casavir, watching me as I tried to regain my balance on one leg, with my arms spread. That silly grin was still on my face, stretching ear to ear.

I don't know exactly what got into me but I did it anyway. There were quite a number of unarmed attacks in the Path of the Silver Fire, and I went ahead and threw the first one that came to my mind straight at him.

"Look, I can do even that!" I was not exactly squealing in glee, but in retrospect it was rather close to that. "Isn't this great?"

"Indeed." He countered without a blink; I dodged his counterattack and threw a kick, forgetting that I was unarmored. Nevertheless, or probably precisely because of that, he couldn't dodge that one, and I connected, perhaps with a tad more force than I intended..

"Ouch." I said, daintily. I had some tears in my eyes.

"Ouch." I heard him saying at the exact same time.

I withdrew the foot, gently lowering to the ground.

"Now that was stupid of me." I looked up at him. "But it was fun. Sorry. You all right?" I noticed a small heel-shaped dent on his breastplate. I bit my lip. "I did not realize I actually connected with force…I am sorry."

"I told you that you were getting better, my lady." He caught my elbow and helped me to the couch. "Will you believe me now?"

"I guess so." Neeshka scooted down so I can sit; I wiggled my toes experimentally in my stocking. "No break, I think."

"Think or know?" Elanee slid off the couch and got hold off my feet. "Let me see that."

"Aw! El!" It caught me off guard. "I said I am fine…what?"

I felt ridiculous; I was sure I was flushing. Elanee murmured something over my foot, I felt the prickly heat of her healing magic--I guess not everything was fine, after all.

"You know…I manage to go through cave spiders, dire wolves and two crazed gnome werewolves with barely a scratch…" I murmured, leaning back on the couch, and looking up at Casavir. Healing always made me a bit sleepy. "Then I break my toe kicking a full-plate-clad paladin in the chest wearing a court gown. Is that crazy or what?"

The full absurdity of the situation hit me then, exactly the same second when it did the same with him. I saw the silver sparkles in his blue eyes, then my mouth twitched into another, no doubt rather silly grin as I finally was rewarded by his full laugh.

The only thought, flashing through my mind vaguely as I threw my head back and let myself go into a fit of giggles worth three sixteen-year olds, was this: _I owe one to Neeshka, He dimples. Oh, he dimples beautiful._


	22. Sorrow

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**Disclaimers:**

_**--Sorry everyone--I really thought this will be a much more action-packed chapter, but it went into a completely different direction. I was in one of those moods. For those who are eager to see more action, and less philosophy, it is coming right up, I promise!--**_

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections; I give my due thanks to those who already have done so. It really helps me to get better, so please feel free to leave a review.**

**I write to music; there is a soundtrack to each of these chapters. In case anyone is interested, for this one I played and played and played _Rose _by Ludovico Enaudi from _Divenire_, _Sorrow_ by Hans Zimmer and Lisa Gerrard from the _Gladiator_ soundtrack, _Movement I _from Vangelis's _El Greco _and _Dante's Prayer _from Loreena McKennitt's _Book of Secrets._**

**As always, I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… Arrighan is entirely my fault, though.**

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

"I have a…favor to ask, my lady, if I may." Casavir said, hesitantly, as we left Hassim's shop.

"Sure thing…" I was still reveling in the memory of cool silk velvet against my skin, the way the gown moved with me like the very extension of my being. "What can I do for you? Any more dents on your armor, just say the word." It must have been a strange mixture of being sleepy from healing magic, being slightly embarrassed by my own clumsiness, and the happiness I felt over the gown that made me unaware just how serious his face was.

When I did not get a smile this time, just a sharp intake of breath, I wiped the glowing expression off my face. _I might have overdid the jokes a bit, perhaps? _

From the corner of my eye, I caught Neeshka linking arms with Elanee and slowing down to about three steps behind us, while chattering about some gemstones she wanted to take to a jeweler to get cut. My tiefling, being tactful. That was new.

"Nothing of the sort." He looked somehow pained by what he was about to say. "I…have neglected something that I probably should have done as soon as I was back in the city. Now that I…made peace with that part of my past, it weighs on my soul even more." He paused, and what he said next made me stop in my track and dedicate my full attention to him. "My family's crypt…I am not sure when the last prayers were said over them. When I saw Anthar, my uncle at the Temple last time, I promised him I'd take care of it." He took a deep breath. "Somehow, I feel the calling stronger and stronger today. Would you…would you accompany me there, my lady? I would be…honored if you did."

"I am sorry. I…" I stammered to a halt, feeling flustered. That request I did not expect. I had trouble forming a suitable reply, when, to my greatest amazement and relief, something familiar in me took over. I let it happen. Sometimes I loved my celestial part. Sometimes.

"Of course. I would be honored. "I managed a formal and suitably stiff bow, even, and I saw relief and gratitude suffusing his features so strongly my knees grew a little weak just seeing it.

_I am only mortal, for the god's sake…_a little part of me whispered in a small voice.

There was, however, a slight problem. I lifted a finger.

"_Just _a moment."

Now it was his turn to frown, but I only caught a sliver of that, as I was already marching back to Neeshka, steps as steady and determined as if I was walking into battle.

"Neesh. Favor. Now." Measuring the words between my teeth, I grabbed her arm with one hand and unclasped my money pouch from my belt with the other. "You and El _absolutely _must go and see that little shop on the corner of Academy Square and Castle Way. The one with the purple and gold awning that you so loudly lamented you could not afford." I shoved a fistful of gold coins I had on me into her hand and folded her fingers over it. "Now you can. That's for truffles." I looked into her eyes, hard. "Get some for me, too. Dark, with raspberry filling. Possibly the apricot-hazelnut ones too. At least a dozen each. No questions." That was all said on my commander voice, the one I normally didn't use except to give battle orders.

"I thought you didn't know that place, Rig!" I knew there was a reason I liked that girl--she barely batted an eye, just one of her horns twitched while she pocketed what I gave her with casual ease. "That just goes to show me… All right." She nodded and sighed. "…I assume you two can be considered enough muscle to handle anything Luskan might throw at you today--I'll just have to somehow explain it to Sand. " Her smile took on a decidedly mischievous tint. "And you…will be back by the morning, I assume?"

"Neesh!" And there was a reason for me wanting to throttle her from time to time, too. "Get your mind out of the gutter, and go look at chocolates, there's a good tiefling." I hissed. "I have no time to explain. Please?"

"Sure, Arrighan." Elanee stepped in before I could explode, firmly took Neeshka by the arm and steered her around. "See you back at the Flagon." Her hand reached out and touched my shoulder briefly; as she withdrew, I felt a brief tingling sensation all over my body.

"Dammit, El!" I murmured between my teeth and I turned away from them, feeling oddly flushed. "I wish I knew what _that _was for…"

Way back when we started adventuring together, we had a discussion about casting spells at each other without warning. She and I agreed that since we all looked like we'd be adventuring together for a while, that needed to be allowed, for the survival of the entire group…even though it was generally considered really bad manners to spell someone just out of the blue. But asking for permission for a protection of a blessing or a healing in the middle of the fight just seemed silly…not that, for instance, Casavir _still _did not yell over everyone's head to the person he was about to hit with a Protect or a Bless. I actually meant to talk to him about that much earlier, but never got around it.

"I am back." I announced to him now brightly. "Sorry about that." I brushed a stray strand of hair out of my face and looked at him. "You lead the way."

"You never cease to amaze me." he said after standing there in the middle of the street what seemed to be almost an eternity. "That means more to me than I can ever express, my lady." He reached out, took my hand, and to my utter bewilderment, lifted it to his lips. "Thank you."

It was only the briefest brush of his mouth, and yet, I felt like silver sparks just ignited my spine. My hand still in his, I stared into his impossibly blue eyes, took a deep, shuddering breath…

…_Get a grip, paladin!_

…then I cleared my throat, squared my shoulders, withdrew my hand and, turning my gaze towards the end of the street, resumed walking. I hoped the crimson of my blush faded reasonably soon. I hoped my breathing slowed down to normal by the time he caught up with me.

_I hoped he'd do that again_…

That was at least three hours worth on my knees praying, that last thought fluttering through my mind, _especially _considering the task ahead. Especially considering what I really needed to concentrate on these days. I had a mass-murder trial to deal with, a silver shard in my chest that apparently belonged to a sword used by a race that tried to kill me on fairly regular basis until recently, not to mention the Manifestations and Visitations swirling around my head these days like so many clouds of silver power…

The bridges of the city always filled me with admiration for the skills of the craftsmen who created them. The Winged Wyvern, with the beast giving it its name carved out of red marble, powerful wings forming an arc above the cobbled walkway spanning the river awed me perhaps the most. On its other end, the Blacklake District shimmered in the rare Uktar sunlight, like a many-faceted gem, with the white, gray and blue of Castle Never sitting in the middle of the mansions, tree-lined alleys and parks as the crowning glory of it all.

We walked trough one of those wide alleys now, in silence, heading North, curving along the district wall. The noble families' cemetery lie just on his side of the gate that led out towards Solace Glade--a fitting location for their resting place. Surrounded by a wall of gray granite, the cemetery had a wrought-iron gate with the solemn statue of Kelemvor, Lord of the Dead set atop it, looking down with open arms to those entering His realm through the gate, his masked face impassive, his cowled robe masterfully rendered in heavy, smooth black marble. Around the entrance, a few small, whitewashed booths offered candles, incense, enchanted ever-burning lamps and many of the flowers grown in the city's gardens.

I watched in silence as Casavir purchased Tyr's cedar-, sandal- and frankincense sticks, with a couple of candles. Somehow I was drawn to one of the flower-sellers'--she offered only one type, a tall, slender-stemmed lavender rose, the petals almost shimmering with a faint silver hue at the tops. Before I knew it, I had a bunch of them on my arm, paying the exuberant price without a blink. I wasn't sure what compelled me to get them, except that it seemed _right _somehow.

"Here." I said, as I stepped back next to Casavir, extending the bunch towards him. "You will need these." I was surprised, myself, at the conviction in my own voice.

He balanced his purchases against his chest with one hand, and took the roses, taking care to wrap his fingers around the stems where the seller tied them with a wide ribbon to protect from the thorns. He regarded me with one of his more unfathomable gazes, but nodded at the end.

"Aye, my lady. I suppose I will." That was one of the things with him, that willingness to believe in me, that unquestioning acceptance of what I did and how I did it, that none of my other companions could offer. I suppose it came from both of us being paladins of Tyr, but perhaps this was also one of the offshoots of the Chosen-Champion connection we formed recently. I wasn't sure—that last one was still too tenuous and fragile to really understand.

I followed him down the central pathway leading from the gate in a straight line. The way was lined with the silent, towering houses of the dead; crypts with elaborately carved and sculpted facades, in white marble and warm yellow sandstone, interspersed with occasional, more solemn black-and gray sea granite buildings. Most of them had evergreen cypresses planted around them, some shaded by enormous willow trees that caressed their bare yellow-grey branches against the sides and roofs. The whole place was peaceful and quiet, yet solemn and sad, as a cemetery should be.

We did not encounter anyone--I assumed most would come later on the day. As we wound our way towards the back, where I assumed the oldest of the families had their burial places, he turned off on a side path with only a little hesitation in his steps that spoke about just how long it was since last time he had been here.

"Here we are." he said finally, tension mixed with undertones of anticipation under the somber timbre. I tilted my head up and surveyed the building in front of us.

The Korranos family crypt was an enormous, circular edifice of shining black marble veined with faint blue lines. Winged archons blew their trumpets above the architrave in a row, twelve of them, some showing the ravages of time in their chipped wings or missing toes. Their heads, however, were still fierce and proud, their hair, held by circlets, streaming behind them in the invisible wind of the realm of Death.

Through the columned portico we walked, up the three stairs. There were leaves strewn all around the entrance, small branches too, and other debris from rainstorms of past years. Clearly there were not many visitors lately.

"Anthar, my uncle is too aged to care for the place properly." Casavir explained. "As a Caretaker of the Archives, he did not have enough funds to retain someone to come here and make sure all is in repair, like the family did in past generations."

"I understand." I said, in hushed tones--the grandeur of the place brought home again just how big a chasm was between Arrighan Pendwyr, love child of Esmerelle of West Harbor, and Casavir, titular Lord of Korranos, descendant of the original Second of the Nine, however our paths might have met under Tyr's gaze.

The entrance was locked and barred; a large chain across the gate, with a crossbar made of thick oak. I was just about to ask whether he knew where to find the key, when I saw him bending down and gently laying the roses and his small pouch of incense and candles on the ground. Straightening again, he stepped closer to the right side of the gate, and pressed his palm against a small plate of the black granite slightly protruding from the otherwise small surface.

_A magical lock, _I thought, understanding dawning. _Tuned to the family members, so no one else could get in. _Such device must be the work of a master wizard, and not for cheap…

"I wasn't sure this was still working. "he said, standing aside, as the door opening mechanism started up with the clanking, creaking noises of machinery not used for a long time. "Its magic had to be renewed at least once since I was born and I never had a chance to find out how often it needed to be done."

I just nodded; truth to tell, I really felt intimidated. I noticed how his shoulders bunched up under the layers of his cloak and his pauldrons, and I realized he must feel something very similar.

"I can… wait out here." I said quietly, studying a fallen tree branch at my feet. "If you want. It is your time to…pay respect and say your prayers. I would not…intrude."

He turned at that, his eyes impossibly large, like star sapphires set in alabaster. I had this sinking feeling that I was saying exactly the wrong thing.

"No..." he said a bit breathlessly. "My lady." he added, as if remembering manners… and I got a bit dizzy then.

I could see him standing there, and, in the same place, at the same time, the shimmer of his eight-year old self too. A bony boy with bruised knees showing under his short azure tunic, tousled black curls falling in front of his eyes, a shy smile on his lips that echoed in the adult every now and then…And there was a haunted-eyed fourteen-year-old version of him too, with the puppy-limbs of adolescent boys, standing at the exact same place, wearing the grey tunic of the acolytes of Tyr, jaws grimly set, clutching a holly, cypress and oak wreath in his hand, strewn with pale lavender roses just like the ones he held now.

_So that's where the roses came from…sweet Tyr! _I put out a hand to find support on a column of the architrave. I could hear his voice, and I could hear his eight-year old and fourteen-year old self repeating the words at the same time. It sounded like a plea for help.

"I would…much rather if you would accompany me." Even more quiet, almost a whisper. "I wasn't inside since…since last time this was open."

I understood; that was the time of the last interment in this crypt--that of his father. He probably came in secret, since by then he had abandoned his oath and fled the Temple. I shuddered at the thought of what memories this place might have conjured. If the eyes that looked at me now from three faces with the same expression were any judge, they still haunted his dreams.

"Of course." What else I could have done? I hurried to his side.

"Here." I murmured, taking up the roses from the ground. "Let me have that." It was strange, seeing him that vulnerable, just like in the chapel this morning. It was even stranger to realize that it was I now who had to be strong, for him.

"You gave me strength when I needed it most. "I said and I was surprised just how steady and strong my voice was. "How can I not stand by you now?" He was like a rock to me through the entire Port Llast and Ember ordeal, always there, always giving, never asking for anything…

So I reached out with some silver-and-crimson fingers of my aura, finding the courage at last, and wrapped them around his silver-and-blue that now was swirling with grayish yellow clouds of uncertainty and pain.

As we walked through the open gateway of the crypt, I found that as my aura wound itself around his, his fingers, in turn, found mine and held my hand over the stems of the pale lavender roses I carried, if only for a second. Then he released my hand and darted ahead, into the antechamber of the crypt.

Inside, it was not as dark as I thought it would be; there were some slits on the dome of the building that let light in, and illuminated the mosaics that covered the ceiling and which stopped me dead on my tracks.

The Korranos' apparently favored the Triad from the very beginning of their line: the central mosaic, high up at the top was done in an archaic style that must have hearkened back to the founding of the city. It showed Tyr in the middle, looking down from his throne, with Ilmater and Torm by his side. Around, on the top of the pendentives carrying the weight of the dome, winged archons strained upwards to reach the gold heavens of the House of the Triad, their wings edged in brilliant white. I arched my neck to take it all in, almost dropping the flowers, even. The richness of gold and colors set into the black marble was as if a section on the carpet of heavens rolled back and I gained a glimpse to where the gods dwelled.

"I used to spend hours here, just looking at that." Casavir said quietly. "It was said that every heir of the House, when first time came here, fell on their face as soon as they saw the image of the Triad, pledging themselves forever with the blood that gushed out of their split foreheads." He touched a barely noticeable scar just over his right eyebrow I always took for a battle wound. "I was no exception."

"It is…" I could not find the words.

"I tried to find the name of the artist in the family archives for months." he continued. "It was never recorded. The crypt itself was built shortly after Galavren's death, but the first who was interred here was his son and his family. Legend says the original Nine rests with Lord Halueth under Castle Never." There was a wall sconce on both sides of the entry with half-burned candles; as he spoke, he stepped up to one and started to light them. I hesitated for a second and followed his example on the other side.

In the slowly blossoming candlelight the mosaics looked even more stunning: the details of Torm's armor, Ilmater's white robe wits its red cord belt, and Tyr's crimson cloak and dark beard slowly came to life. I could now see how the crypt was arranged as well: the entire central part was shaped as a huge tomb, an immense slab of marble somehow brought here-- by magic, no doubt. The family members' individual coffins were slid into this one by one, after cutting away the right size slab out of the stone. One could walk around this tomb-in-the-tomb until reached the place one was looking for. Like we did.

The latest additions to the line of Korranos' interred was two side-by-side tombs marked with headstones cut from the same dark gray stone. In the light of the candle Casavir was holding, I could make out the still almost sharp edges of the very last one--the stone must have been hastily shoved back to cover the coffin. Those white, unworked lines stood out in sharp contrast to the almost seemless joints of all the others.

"Is this…your mother and father?" I asked. He just nodded wordlessly: the single light of the candle reflected in his eyes like tiny prisms of brilliant azure flames.

I could see the inscriptions on those two slabs now: "_Sebille Korranos, wife of Darnell, mother of Casavir and Lynneth, beloved of Ilmater_" said one set in glittering gold, with the time of death and a finely carved intaglio portrait of the dead woman underneath.

The other had no portrait, the letters of the inscription without gilding, saying simply: "_Darnell Korranos, last of his line, judged by Tyr_." That's all there was--I glanced at Casavir and I saw his jawline harden as he remembered.

"_Last of his line…" _the inscription said…as if the man standing next to me never even existed. As if by erasure of the Korranos name from the Golden Book of Neverwinter on that fateful day so many years ago, he also was supposed to fade out of existence, disappear like the words of the oath he broke in a desperate attempt to reconcile his faith, his family, his honor and his very soul.

It did not work. He was still here. And by Tyr, if there was anything I could do about it, so he shall remain.

I took a deep breath.

"Just…tell me what you want me to do."

All around us, busts and inlaid portraits of Korranos ancestors looked on at us, two paladins of Tyr, fully clad in plate but for our heads and hands, as we walked around to arrange flowers, candles and incense. The prayers for the dead, still almost painfully fresh in my memory from Ember, came to my lips without prompting, but silently, as I stood behind Casavir kneeling on the cold marble. He pulled a fold of his blue cloak over his head as he prayed, unmoving. I stood there, I do not know how long, assuming the pose of a guardian without thinking: legs braced shoulder-width apart, hands resting, clasped, on my sword in front of me. I breathed in the incense-laden air, mixed with the fresh scent from the roses and the faint whispers of flowers and wreaths long gone, and looked on, letting the flickering candlelight draw my eye to one place or another. I rested my gaze on the bronze locks of one of the archons, saw the way Ilmater's hands on the central mosaic, bound with the blood-red cords of mercy and compassion, reached out towards Tyr, or watched Torm's leonine countenance with his amber eyes and hair of copper fire.

At last, my eyes alighted on the figure of Tyr, sitting on his throne in majesty, in the middle of the House of the Triad, crimson cloak around his shoulder, his maimed hand resting on his hammer while the other gripped a scale. The unknown artist used obsidian to fill the empty eye sockets: their hard glimmer was like a starless void. '_Look at your own peril, lest you see your own judgement', _it seemed to suggest.

I squared my shoulders and felt my grip tighten on my sword.

"_If you will, so I shall be, Even-Handed." _I slowed my breathing as I said my prayer. "_ If you so will, let me be judged. Let me be offered to bear the burden, so Your servant, Casavir Korranos can make peace with you and with his ghosts and can fully return home at last. Have Torm's courage, and sweet Ilmater's mercy even his path, and grant him Your justice as his guiding light. Whatever you ask, I will do. Whatever is your task, I will carry out. You set me on a hard path, Even-Handed, and I will not turn back. But I need help…and so does he."_

Those glimmering obsidian eye sockets stared back at me, dark windows to somewhere Else, beyond the Prime Plane, where no mortal can tread before shedding mortality; a place, where a part of me, growing stronger and stronger by the day ever since I arrived to this city, longed to go.

Despite what lie ahead for me, what was yet to come in the next days, somehow, my heart suddenly felt lighter.

Under the gold-gilded dome of the old crypt I could hear the rustle of those white wings again, beating gentler winds this time, touching my face whisper-light, and breathing into the quiet, calm and infinitely sad air of the crypt the same words I first heard in the Temple the day the god saw to reknit me anew:

"_**Chosen of the Even-Handed…"**_


	23. All Because Of You

-1**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**Disclaimers:**

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections; I give my due thanks to those who already have done so. It really helps me to get better, so please feel free to leave a review.**

**There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things.**

**I write to music; there is a soundtrack to each of these chapters. In case anyone is interested, this one's included the following: _Jours d'Amour _from Andreas Vollenweider's _Book of Roses_, _I Don't Think Now Is The Best Time _from Hans Zimmer's _Pirates of the Caribbean III _soundtrack and _All Because of You _from U2's _How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb ._**

**As always, I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… Arrighan is entirely my fault, though.**

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

"You're not supposed to be going into the graveyard. I swear I'll tell Father!" The high, clear voice of a girl-child yanked me right out of that slightly light-headed, but mostly pleasant state I usually entered after prayer and meditation. We didn't speak much since leaving the Korranos mausoleum; Casavir obviously had much to think about, I thought, and I was the same way.

"_Those roses…" he said quietly, as he locked the mausoleum's door back by pressing his palm on the magical lock once again. "Those were my mother's favorites. I am not sure how you knew but…thank you."_

I wasn't sure either. I was aware that part of me was not quite…well, in the beginning I thought about it as 'normal', then simply as 'human'. I always attributed those little unexplainable 'insights' I had from very early on to the part of my blood inherited from my unknown father. It looked like I had to add one more thing to that long list, now.

"You little _rat_! You wouldn't!" No, that kind of talk _definitely _did not belong to this place. _Especially _not coming from a small group of richly dressed young ladies clustering around the entrance.

"She'll ruin everything, Lisbet. Shut her up, or I will." I did not particularly care about how the black-haired girl said—no, hissed-- that, so I stopped a short distance from them next to a tall cypress and surveyed the group. Casavir looked at me questioningly; I nodded towards the girls.

"I don't like the way they talk to the little one." I whispered. "And they are all wearing black."

"You have color prejudices, my lady?" he whispered back. "There's no rule against…"

"You be quiet! I'm not scared of you!" The young girl whose loud words roused me from my reverie must have been ten or eleven. The cut and fabric of her gown and her perfectly clean hands and cheek all bore witness to her status as noble-born. She turned to one of the girls, who, judging by the facial resemblance, must have been her sister. "Come on, Lisbet, just come home, please!"

"I swear, Kyli…" The older girl had a furious look on her face, ivory pale over her high-collared black cape. "If you don't leave me alone we're going to grab you and…" She cut that off sharply, turned, and stared straight at me, standing there halfway covered by the cypress.

"Well, nothing for it now." I murmured as I stepped out from my cover. You can't exactly expect to sneak up on people in full plate.

I directed my attention to the young one, Kyli; as she saw us approaching, her face lit up with relief.

"Are these ladies bothering you, little girl?" It did not exactly look like ordinary bullying to me, I was very familiar with that from my own childhood in West Harbor, but one can never be entirely sure.

"We're not bothering anybody." The girl named Lisbet who noticed me took a quick step backwards, almost tumbling as her heel caught between two cobblestones. "It's nothing. We're just trying to get rid of my little sister." She made a nervous little laugh as she took in my armor. "You know how kids can be…"

She was scared, it was plain. Why was she scared? And why was she scared of _me_?

"That's right." The black-haired member of their group tossed her hair, with a look straight down her nose, directed at me. "So go away, and mind your own business." She directed such a menacing look at the blonde little girl that I felt my hand clenching into a fist. "And that goes for you, too, Kyli. We'll go where we want."

Kyli had some spirit in her; she looked the older girl straight in the eye, hands balled, face reddening.

"No you won't! Not when I tell Father that the three of you have been hanging around in Grandpa's crypt with _boys_!"

_Uh-oh_. I risked a side glance at Casavir.

"What the hells is going on?" I whispered furiously. Then, louder, at the girls. "Hanging around in a crypt? I don't think that's legal…and what exactly are you doing in a crypt with boys?"

The third member of the little group, a girl with the heart-shaped face and golden tresses shifted uncertainly. She was beautiful like a painting, but with a curiously vapid expression on her face.

"It's not _legal_?" She grabbed the black-haired girl's arm, blinking nervously. "It's not, really?"

"Of course it's legal, Savanna. She's trying to scare you." The black-haired girl directed another of those angry stares at me. "We can go wherever we want." She beckoned to his companions, imperiously—she was the oldest, I thought, seventeen or so. "And we shall. Come on."

"And don't let me catch you following us, Kyli." Lisbet bent down to look Kyli in the eye, tilting her head up with one finger under the chin. "Or I'll let Raven hurt you."

"She's right, you know, my lady." Casavir was so sensible again I had to clench my teeth. "They can go, if it is their family's crypt they are talking about."

Yes, he was right. But all my instincts, from the very first second we stumbled upon that little scene, kicked into alert and peppered my skin with hot little prickles. Something was not right: I did not care for the girl Raven's eyes, the almost icy fever that lurked at the bottom of them, the nervously chewed lips of Lisbet despite her haughty demeanor, the chipped nails of the otherwise perfect Savanna.

I was a Watchman, and a paladin of Tyr—I noticed details. Details mattered, very often defining the dividing line between ugly death and survival.

So when I turned to Kyli, I was as determined to find out what was going on as if this was another githyanki ambush or smuggler gang I had to ferret out.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid!" The girl was muttering to herself, kicking the tufts of winter grass growing in patches between the curbstones. She had flaxen hair, cheeks still plump from puppyfat. Her black eyes stared up at me, like a small bird's. "Them, I mean, not you. They are so _stupid_…" She shook her head. "I'll never be like that, never."

"A graveyard is no place for childish games." Casavir was looking down at her with lips closely pressed together.

" I am reasonably sure that this young lady is aware of that." I said, wondering a bit. I understood that he was disapproving, but why be so cold to this child?

"Kyli, right?" I asked the girl. She nodded. "I heard them saying your name. Pleased to meet you, Miss Kyli; I am Arrighan. Can you tell me what your sister and her friends are doing in there?"

She frowned.

"Hanging around with _boys_." she said, disgust dripping from her voice so thickly I had to fight not to smile. It was as if I saw my own self at that age. "Kissing, probably. Lisbet thinks I don't know anything, but I'm a lot smarter than stupid Savanna." She shuddered. "Yech! I'll never kiss a bunch of stupid _boys_. Especially not in some creepy graveyard."

"Oh no, so they are still doing it…" I heard Casavir murmuring next to my ear.

"I beg your pardon?" I said, turning towards him.

"Some things never change, my lady." he said, avoiding looking into my eye. "This is…not unheard of in Blacklake."

"What, coming to the cemetery to _kiss_?" I burst out. "That's just _sick_…!" I think I even rolled my eyes.

"Yes…but some girls find this _romantic."_ Kyli spat that word out like it was something vile and disgusting, and stared at Casavir with an expression on her face that belonged to a much older and more bitter person. " And I bet _you _know this because in your time you did it, too!" she said, pointing straight at him with a finger.

"Kyli!" That's all I could say; I honestly didn't know if I should burst out laughing or get outraged. She stood there, with a pointed finger, all maybe four feet tall, staring down a full plate-clad paladin who distinctly looked red in the face.

Oh, I started to _like _this girl already.

"What? He has an air about him that says he's from here, just like my whole family. You don't…" She shrugged. "That's all right; I like you. You have pretty eyes."

"Um…that thing your sister said about letting Raven hurt you…" I cleared my throat and tried to get this conversation back to a path that I actually _dared _to follow. "Have they ever threatened you before?"

She shrugged.

"Yeah. But that's just dumb stories they make up to get rid of me. Raven likes to pretend she's all dark and scary."

I was not sure about that 'pretending' part. I distinctly disliked that girl's eyes.

"These friends of your sister…What do you know about them?"

"Raven's some merchant's daughter, I think. Savanna's uncle is one of the Nine, but Savanna's so dumb she thinks she's related to Lord Nasher." Kyli looked up at me seriously. "Savanna's just stupid, but Raven... she's _mean_. One time she hit me when Lisbet wasn't looking, and she said she'd cut my throat if Lisbet would just let her."

"Really now?" I said slowly, and before I could think, the words were out of my mouth. "Kyli…how about I go and find your sister?"

"Are you sure? " She looked at me and I saw doubt in her eyes. "There's boys with Lisbet, too, and they're all dark and depressing and mean, just like Raven. They dress like it's somebody's funeral and moan about how pointless everything is."

"Kyli…" Casavir cleared his throat. "I know this might sound like a bit of an exaggeration--but the lady Arrighan here faced much, much worse on our journeys than dark-clad boys. Trust me."

"Why, just because you wear a bunch of armor?" the girl shot back fiercely. "Father has some too, he has bodyguards with him all the time, and he cannot get Lisbet to stop hanging out with Raven and Savanna and those boys, who look at her _that _way…" Her eyes clouded over. " She used to be so much _fun_. She never comes home anymore, and Father always sits up and waits, and she doesn't even _care_."

"Where did they go, Kyli?" I looked around; those three long vanished between the houses of the dead while we talked. I felt a cold breeze brushing over my hair, and I shuddered.

"To our granddad's crypt over there." She pointed towards the left. "The one with the name 'Bryce" on the door. They always go there…I think Lisbet stole the key from Father. We used to play hide-and-seek in there all the time, but I don't go there any more." Her eyes grew large and she grasped my hand. "It's gotten all creepy in there." she whispered. "Raven says she likes it, but I bet she's lying."

"Maybe." I said. Maybe this was nothing else but a bunch of spoiled brats playing sick games after sunset groping at each other, but…

…_I did not like that girl's eyes…_

"Bryce?" Casavir said suddenly. "As in…Liam Bryce?"

"Yes, that was Grandfather." Kyli nodded. "Why?"

"My lady…" Casavir leaned closer. "Sir Devon Bryce, these girls' father is one of the Nine."

"Nasher's Nine?" He nodded. "Oh, _shit_." I said, with feeling, then I remembered Kyli. "Oh. Sorry."

"It's all right." Kyli grinned suddenly. "I never heard a lady swear before…I like it."

"Well no one calls me lady except him…" I nodded towards Casavir, "…so that might explain it a bit." I shrugged. "Still, I apologize."

"I won't tell if you don't." Kyli grew serious again. "You…really think you could get her to come home?" There was such a desperate hope in her voice that I couldn't resist. I went down on one knee and hugged her.

"Don't worry, little one. I will bring your sister home safe." She stiffened a bit, then relaxed and returned the hug, throwing her arms around my neck and squeezing.

"Ow." she said suddenly and squirmed. "Your armor is cold."

I let go and stood back up, smiling at her.

"Comes with it, I am afraid." She was really sweet and surprisingly unspoiled. I put a hand on her shoulder. "Now do me a favor, hon, and wait for us by those flower-sellers, okay? Should be back soon."

She nodded regally once to me, once to Casavir, then bounded away, trust and relief radiating off her almost visibly.

"Now, then." I said, yanking on the chain of my cloak. A light drizzle started to fall. "Shall we see if it is nothing more but a couple of youngsters kissing in the dark?" I couldn't help but wink at him, and was rewarded with a twitch of his mouth.

"My lady will have her jest." he said and fell in step next to me. "I am sure it's just children's games."

I snorted.

"Whatever." I glanced at him sideways, remembering. "You still owe me an explanation, though."

"About what?" There was a slight panicky tone in his voice.

I felt the fog of sadness lifting from me.

"Oh, I don't know…maybe about how on earth an devoted knight of Tyr would know about the habits of youngsters hiding in crypts to…All right, all right." I said and lifted one hand. "Your secrets are safe from me." I flashed a smile. "I guess in a twisted way it's probably the equivalent of Retta's hayloft, anyway, so I should really stop before you return the favor."

I honestly don't remember if I've ever seen a man blush as much as he did. Saying that thing about Retta's hayloft made me remember a couple of things, though, and I caught myself reddening too.

_Good _thing that crypt was just around the corner.

I took a deep breath and concentrated on looking stern and somehow foreboding as I pushed the door in. I sincerely hoped we did not interrupt anything...untoward. I was not sure I can keep a straight face if it turned out one of the Nine's children was involved in an orgy.

"Eek! Who invited _them_?" As soon as we entered and my eyes got used to the semi-darkness, I knew my hunch was right.

_Ewww. Definitely more than just kissing._

"Oooh. Platemail…"

"Oh, gods..." I heard, on my left, the disgusted murmur from Casavir. "Not _this_…"

"I was not exactly…invited." I said, carefully not looking anywhere but in the face of the girl who had the most clothes on and who spoke up first. "I am looking for…a girl named Lisbet."

"Crap." said the boy next to her, in a kind of a half-crouch. "Do you think Lisbet's father sent her?"

"Nah, then there'd be, like, a dozen of them, and in better armor, too." That was another boy, slightly pudgy and very pale. As in, pale _all over_. I shuddered. "Listen, you, this is a private party! You can't just shove your way in here."

"Yeah, I can see it's a private party, all right." I murmured under my breath. "A disgrace, too…" I felt a bit nauseous. I mean, really: this was a _crypt_, with dead people below, for the gods' sake!

"Hey! Do you have any idea who our parents are?" This one still had his pants on, thank the gods. I shook my head at the absurdity of the situation--tried to scan the faces staring at us, but could not see Kyli's sister amongst them.

The wide chamber smelled of wine and incense sticks made of some kind of cloyingly sweet substance. There were a couple of candles, too, all black, and, if I could make it out right, an actual pentagram in one of the corners. This was bizarre beyond belief.

_And how the hell they managed to sneak in **couches**?_

I turned sideways just in time to see one of the girls in a loosely cinched black robe and nothing else, sort of sidling up to Casavir.

"_You_ can stay if you want, though…" she said, smiling up at him and sliding her hands up and down on his breastplate. "You look cute…"

"Now listen, you little…" I started, but whatever I wanted to say went straight out of my head as a scream cut through the air, coming from somewhere deeper in the crypt. It was long and piteous, cut short at the end, full of dread and despair.

"Someone is in trouble." I said tensely. I heard a short incantation murmured next to me, then a sharp intake of breath as Casavir's detection spell took effect.

"There is something deeply evil down there, my lady." he snapped. "We should get them out of the crypt, and _now_." He brushed off the girl's hands from his chest as she tried to cling to him for--I hoped-- another reason than what she originally had intended.

"You all need to get out. Now." He raised his voice, full of authority. Thankfully, I could see at least some of them started to reach for their clothes. _Good_. "Someone's in trouble in there."

"Next time, you should choose someplace other than a tomb for this, if you must." I said tensely, adjusting my helmet's lining. That scream did not sound good.

"Or get a room in the Moonstone Mask…" he measured between his teeth. "Right. Let's go find out what that was."

Indeed._ Whatever it is_, I thought as we started off towards the stairs leading down to the crypt proper, _it cannot be worse than a bunch of scantily clad teenagers trying to sidle up to full plate-clad paladins._

Oh, was I wrong.

The first chamber, dimly lit by my hastily summoned light spell, looked and smelled quite different from that upstairs room.

"What_ are _these?" yelled Casavir over the screeches of creatures with rotting flesh sloughing off their naked bodies, charging us from the other end of the room where they surrounded two black-clad girls just a minute ago.

"Ghasts!" I yelled back and drew my sword. "Watch the claws!" I ducked. "You don't mean to tell me…" I stepped in and thrust, "…that you never…" upward cut, "…saw one of these? Seriously?"

"Orcs, mostly." he said as an explanation as he kicked one in the chest--the ghast tumbled back, shrieking. " Remember--Old Owl Well?" The blade of his greatsword flashed with gold light as he twisted, turned and _ripped_. "Ye gods, they smell foul!" he exclaimed, shaking green things off his blade.

"They spread plague, too. Your basic disgusting zombie-types, but faster." I said, stepping closer to the two girls. They did not seem too scared, and that was odd to say the least.

"Look Vera... She's rescuing us." The taller one held an unrolled parchment scroll in her hand. "Isn't that cute? What do we do now?"

The other one stomped her feet as she glared at us, and I recoiled as I saw the same cold blue light in her eyes that lurked in the depths of the girl Raven's gaze.

"The thralls... they're all dead. You slaughtered them! Do you have _any_idea how long it took us to raise those things?!" she snapped.

"Raise them?" I repeated, slightly confused.

"My fault, Vera." I heard behind us. "She and the other tin can came in looking for Lisbet."

It was the deadly pale boy from upstairs, in a hastily donned shirt and pants--with the other five right behind him, blocking the doorway.

"Tin can?" Casavir drew himself up to his full height. "By Tyr, you have cheek, boy…"

"But it was only the six of us, and I didn't think they'd have a chance against your, uh... friends." the boy continued as if he haven't even heard Casavir. He licked his lips nervously and glanced down to the hacked-up ghasts. "The dead ones, I mean."

"Enough!" Casavir lost what little patience he had remaining. He took a step towards the boy, sword still in hand. "What have you done with Lisbet Bryce, cur?"

Obviously he was faster on the uptake than I was…I simply couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"Lisbet, Lisbet, Lisbet." the boy mocked, lips pulling back in a snarl. I noticed he was clutching a slender staff behind his back. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"They can't handle all of us." the first girl called Vera suggested, pulling out another scroll from her robe. "We'll give their corpses to Arval, and he'll bind their soul to serve the King! I'll bet he lets us watch."

I bit back a curse--for now. This was turning into something rather…surreal. A bunch of youngsters having an orgy in a crypt, threatening two paladins to…

_Serve the King_…Where have I heard that before?

We both remembered almost exactly at the same time, I saw from the way Casavir's shoulders stiffened and his stance shifted back to battle awareness. His voice deepened, filled with the power of the god as he looked at the pale boy.

"Whatever darkness has ensnared you... it isn't too late to turn away. You have no idea who you're dealing with."

_That room under the orc caverns in the Sword Mountains…_

_The masked priest, cloaked in dread, stench of death and swirling shadows._

_These kids…_

"You're so _stupid!" _The girl in the black silk robe screeched, no trace of that clumsy seductive smile on her pretty face now. Instead, it was distorted by something vile and ugly. "Rushing in to rescue poor little Lisbet…. You don't scare us. Kill us, and we'll rise again in Shadow!"

"Our King promises." Their murmur was like a chant in a temple of darkness. I smelled the same cloying sweet smell like upstairs, and realized it was not incense. It was the smell of their obsession, the smell of their ensnarement.

The smell of their evil.

"His darkness is truth." they whispered as one, as they all lifted their hands.

"His Shadow will cleanse the world…"

The next few minutes were…chaotic, to say the least. I would never be proud of what we did then, even if it was necessary. There were real spells flung at us, with intent to maim or kill, conjured from wands, fingertips and scrolls of youngsters not even twenty. My armor's warding enchantments grew hot as some of them hit--one square in the chest. I stumbled back, trying to regain my balance, as darkness blossomed around me. I hacked and twisted, felt my sword hit, heard a scream… Casavir bellowed a warding spell and it blazed up around me like a shining mantle of protection; I heard my own voice raised with the same chords sending a similar one around him…

Then it was over; there was a faint smell of overheated metal and coppery blood, the conjured darkness lifted, and I stared into the dead eyes of the pale boy from less than a feet away.

"Some bloody orgy." I muttered as I got up from the ground. I checked for injuries reflexively--bruises only. "You all right?"

"Some kids…" came the reply: he was leaning against a squat pillar in the middle of the room, looking around. "Still no sign of Lisbet, though."

"Or the other two." I nodded and saw the blaze of controlled fury in his eyes echoing my own. Unspoken, both of us entered the particular state of mind one achieves in intense combat--if it's hostile, it's hostile, no matter race, age or gender. It wants to kill us, that's what matters.

_I'll probably be noisily sick once we get out of here_, I thought fleetingly while grabbing a small phial I recognized as a healing potion that rolled out of one of the girls' robes. _These were practically children!_ _But right now, there is no time for that._

"A Shadow Priest." Casavir said with grimly clenched jaws. "In the middle of Neverwinter."

"There's no other explanation." I nodded. "I recognized the phrasing, too."

"Should be somewhere deep down." He surveyed the doorway in front of us. "And judging by this, we have to expect more undead as well." He hesitated. "If you agree, my lady, we should press on and find out."

I crouched down next to him and started yanking things out of my belt and baldric pouches.

"Let me see…" I took stock of the assorted scrolls and potions. "Heal… Serious Wounds… Critical Wounds… Protection… Oh, a Holy Sword!" I exclaimed, smoothing out a scrunched-up piece of parchment. "That's nice…I had no idea I had this much junk on me. What've you got?"

"Hm." He performed the exact same movements, spreading his findings next to mine. "A couple of potions from Elanee…this is a Death Ward…" He furrowed his brows in concentration as he pulled another one out of his belt. "Restoration…well, I had no idea I had this on me either." He looked at me. "So-- how do you know about ghasts, anyway, my lady?"

"Run into quite an infestation on my way to Neverwinter." I said, organizing the potion bottles into a neat little row in front of me. There was a Bull's Strength, too, of Sand's make there. Those always tasted like licorice. I _hate _licorice. "At Fort Locke and Highcliff---old cemeteries with Shadow Priests in both, too."

"I must insist to tell me more about your…adventures before you arrived to the City, then." he said after a pause. "In all my years of service, I never had to battle those."

"Ghasts? Just hit them hard and fast, and avoid the claws." I shrugged. "They have a hard time with heavy armor, but they are fast, and they can pile up on you. And that stench is really awful." I grinned, remembering Khelgar's feet barely sticking out from under half a dozen of them back at Highcliff Castle. "But they crumble nicely from Turning."

"Good advice." He regarded the not-so-little pile of scrolls and the row of potions in front of us for a second. "This looks enough, my lady…by the god's grace most of my granted powers are still intact as well."

I knew what he meant, and I felt a savage smile spreading on my lips. I sensed a presence stirring in me, responding to the darkness threatening us, and I welcomed it with open arms.

This was what I was trained for. A small part of me really was stomping her feet screaming at me to get out, go for help and don't attempt any heroic mission on the fly while currently being one of the most valuable persons in Neverwinter… but I made a promise.

_Sand will go spare…not to mention Nevalle!_

_Oh, fuck Nevalle._

"And so are mine." I stood up. "Not to mention we are both wearing those cloaks from Hassim." I smoothed down the blue fabric on my shoulder, and the warding magic in it sparkled up like a field of stars, creating a shimmering web around me. "Shall we get them, then?"

"Aye, my lady." He had the same feral expression on his face. "For Tyr."

"For Tyr." I closed my eyes for a second, lifted my hand and let my palm touch his, one paladin to the other. "May he guide our swords to bring justice." I intoned, and the stirring of white feathers was there behind my eyelids again.

To this day, I cannot precisely recall all the details of those hours spent under the Bryce tombs. The girl Raven fell, at the end, but blonde Savanna turned from the darkness she embraced only out of desire to _belong_… for she fled the crypt in tears to run home and ask for her uncle's protection.

And, finally, after dark corridors stinking of ghasts, and striking down acolytes of the dark King, cold blue fire blazing in their eyes, in the last chamber we came upon the man who started it all. He was no raving lunatic, or madly cackling old wizard, but a young man with a golden mane of hair about his face in the manner of courtiers on old paintings, a melodious voice, and a smile that could curl a girl's toes.

"May the King of Shadows forgive you. Embrace him, and know light for the illusion that it is." he greeted us as we rushed in, with one of the battle-psalms of the god still on my lips, barely yanking ourselves back to real time after our last battle with three of his initiates by the door.

"Shadow is the illusion." I snarled, defiantly. The god's light burned in my heart with an even white blaze. "The sun burns shadow away."

"A common misconception." He smiled, hands outstretched, like one giving benediction. The small, broken, gutted corpse of a girl in red gown lay at his feet like a crumpled toy. "Light is but a fickle, passing thing. When the sun has set, and man's little torches have guttered out, _then _do we see the true face of our world. In shadow, the world began, and to shadow, it will inevitably return."

"Murderer! You killed that woman!" Casavir measured between his teeth, eyes radiant with the same fire that burned in me.

"Quite the contrary, my friend." The man called Arval shook his head, face impassive and serene." She went under the knife willingly: as a trailblazer, a gate-opener, if you will, for the true bride of our King who comes soon after her."

I looked and saw an auburn head in the ring of dark-robed acolytes in a corner: Lisbet Bryce watched Arval with the rapt attention of a lover, a true zealot, or perhaps both.

"Release Lisbet, and surrender yourselves. " Casavir also noticed her, and his hand grew tight on the hilt of his sword as the meaning of Arval's words reached him. "We'll see that you receive a fair trial. You must answer for the lives of those children you deceived."

"Fair? By whose assessment? Your priests and their false gods? By yours, whose hands struck my faithful down?" The Shadow Priest shrugged: a graceful, smooth move, one that belonged to a trained fighter, not merely a priest. I shifted my stance to slowly inch closer to him while he spoke. I had to get _very _close: I knew then that I had to hit him hard and fast, and he had to go down first above all else.

"I look upon your trials and your justice, and I witness folly." he continued, warming up to his subject, smiling that smile again that never reached the eyes. "There is no truth but Shadow, and no justice that is not handed down by his servants. And it is only the first step. I have unearthed truths known long ago, and I have already sent word of my discoveries to my brothers and sisters in Shadow." Another shrug. My head spun from the heresies he spoke, but I forced myself to keep moving closer while he talked. "Besides, Lisbet has a part to play here. She will be one of the first to achieve divine union with our King... not the crude undeath which lies in store for you, but a true joining of souls."

"I am giving you one last chance." That was Casavir again; giving me time. His voice shook from anger. "Surrender yourselves to Tyr's justice--or His wrath will show no mercy for what you have done."

"And I say again, may the King of Shadows forgive you, for you speak in ignorance. I pity you, truly. I seek to save you from your ignorance, nothing more." I was almost there; one sword's length between him and me. "But like a child, you persist in your fear of the dark - ah, well." He sighed, an almost sad sound. "Death will render you far more compliant. We will speak again, I think, after you have breathed your last…"

That was enough; it was time. I let the gates down: the slowly building white wrath of the god burst forth from my hand, along the blade of my weapon, but faster than my strike. Before I could re-enter battle time, the white lightning already struck Arval and spun him around, to his knees.

"_Kneel_ before the justice of the Even-handed, heretic!" I heard myself crying out in a clear voice as my blade find its way though the joints of his armor again and again. As through a veil, I could hear Casavir's power-filled voice, see the flash of his sword as he meted out death amongst the acolytes. My power struck true one more time…

As the light died in Arval's eyes, his lips remained drawn in the same serene smile he wore all this time.

"His Darkness is Truth…" he whispered one last time, and went still.

I retreated towards Casavir, and felt his back against mine as we stood in the ring of the remaining acolytes.

"You not hurt?" I shouted back over my shoulder over the sizzling of spells and shrieks of words of power.

"Just fine, my lady!" he yelled back, then said something else that I could not quite make out. I got to duck from an incoming swipe from an icy blast directed at me, then lunged forward to dispatch the acolyte sending the spell.

"What?" I yelled. "I didn't quite get…" I spun out, draw my blade across another acolyte's throat, then back again,"…that."

"I just said…" I felt him spun away, I heard a scream, stepped aside, ducked another blow, then we were back to back again, so I could only hear the very end of what he said"…beautiful!"

"Nevermind!" I shouted. "Later!"

Then the last acolyte was down, and I turned to Lisbet who was shaking like a leaf, with her back to a pillar, staring at Arval's limp body.

"Lisbet…" I started but she turned on me with such a feral expression on her face, I had to take a step back.

"Keep away from me! He _isn't _dead! I can bring him back!"

"What in the name…?" I said, incredulously…but there was a sickening greenish blue glow around her hands, a globe of power that kept growing as she muttered words under her breath that…

"Behind you!" I heard Casavir's voice bellowing. "They are rising!"

"WHAT are rising?" I spun around, sword at the ready…

Shadows were emerging from the dead bodies around us, eyes glowing read, black, clawing hands reaching towards me…

"Holy mercy of Ilmater! _How _did she do that?" I had no time to ponder that much…we were surrounded, again. Backs to each other, once more, in the ring of black malice, I started my chant of prayer, and I heard Casavir doing the same, summoning our powers against the darkness.

I have learned a lot that day, as we fought shoulder-to-shoulder first in that room, then, half-carrying, half leading the hysterical Lisbet Bryce, back all the way to the first room. _Those words I said... they'll have raised everyone in the crypt. All the people you've killed will be waiting for us, as shadows, _said Lisbet once she calmed down from her remorseful crying, the veil of deception lifted from her eyes at last. And indeed, they did. We had to hack through several groups of shadows to reach the entrance again, making sure Lisbet got to no harm.

As we stumbled back to the early twilight of the surface, I took stock of my newfound knowledge, while letting combat fatigue, at last, getting the better of me.

_One_: Never underestimate young people. All those kids…they believed all those heresies Arval taught them with the fervor of true zealots, and it granted them true powers, that they were bent on using against us, even it their deaths.

_Two_: a pair of paladins fighting side by side against undead is rather effective. With the help of those potions and scrolls, and using all of our available powers granted by Tyr, we escaped with barely more than bruises.

_Three_: even in the midst of Neverwinter, evil could blossom unchecked if no one did anything to prevent it.

And yes, just like I suspected, at last I did throw up. Loud and noisy, shaking and hacking and spitting, without any dignity at all. On my knees, with my hands supporting my weight in front of me, hair barely out of the way, in the winter grass covering the front of the Bryce mausoleum.

"Is she…all right?" I heard vaguely above me--Lisbet Bryce sounded just a little bit short of crying. "What…what's wrong with her?"

Strong hands gripped my shoulders, pulled me upright.

"Breathe. Deep." Casavir commanded in a voice that bore no argument. "One… two… out. One… two… out. Lisbet, we need water. There is a well just around in the back. Should be some kind of pot or bucket there too. Get to it."

Eyes squeezed shut, I slowly let my limbs relax so they stopped shaking, my guts still churning with the sudden release of tension.

"Here…" I heard the girl's voice again. "Will you tell me what…?"

"Not now." Casavir said, and I felt a bucketful of cold water pouring down my neck under my gorget. My entire body went rigid from the shock of it, but he held me in a grip that rendered me unable to do anything about it.

I screamed.

"By the hammer of Tyr…Casavir Korranos, what the FUCK are you doing?"

"Making you scream, apparently." That was _not _a voice I expected to hear anywhere near me right now. As my eyes flew open again, I saw Bishop leaning against a cypress nearby, arms crossed in front of his chest. "Just what did you get yourself into this time, holy girl? And why was I not invited?"


	24. The Fiddling Ladies

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

_**--Fair warning: there is girl talk in this chapter, and quite some, because, frankly, I felt that it was time. Go ahead and hit me if you want. :-P ---**_

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections. It really helps me to get better, so please feel free to leave a review. Thanks for all of those who have already done so—you guys are great!**

**There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things. Hence the M rating so far.**

**I write to music; there is a soundtrack to each of these chapters. In case anyone is interested, this one's included the following: _Over and Over _from Three Days Grace's _One-X_ (this is for Bishop); _One Day_ from Hans Zimmer's _Pirates of the Caribbean III_ soundtrack; and _The Fiddling Ladies_ from the Chieftains' _Tears of Stone._**

**And, as always, I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… Arrighan is entirely my fault, though.**

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

"Bishop!" I moaned, with my head between my knees. "What the hells are you doing here?"

"Tracking you two, what else?" He came closer, crouching down in front of me in the grass. "Got overheated, eh? Well, a bucketful of cold water should fix that." He looked up at Casavir. "What the heck were you doing down there, milord, anyway?"

"Tracking us?" I had to keep the conversation going between him and me, despite my nausea, so Casavir does not rise to the bait. He was really rather bad at that. "What for?"

"For your bloody wizard and his leash-holders, holy girl." Bishop sniffed. "You smell like undead creatures… is that what spoiled your fun?"

"I don't think this is the best time for this, Bishop." Casavir straightened—I felt a pang of regret as his arm left me-- and turned to Lisbet who was trembling like a leaf. "Let me take you to your sister, Lisbet—she's waiting at the entrance, anxious, no doubt, after this long. " He sounded so calm, cool and collected; I almost believed he was not affected by Bishop's words. Almost. "I trust my lady Arrighan can handle the ranger until I am back."

"'s high time you realize that…"I murmured, feeling absurdly relieved that he chose that course of action. "Sure…" I raised my voice. "About that water, now, though…"

"I don't think he _wanted _to hear you, holy girl." Bishop chuckled, making himself comfortable on the ground next to me. "I bet you are feeling like a drowned rat inside all that metal… any chance I can help you to get out of it?" He waved a hand after Casavir. "Given how your knight in shining armor was quick enough to abandon you for another damsel in distress."

That was classic Bishop: innuendo, malice and the need to plant discord all neatly wrapped in his drawling voice. I could do nothing but throw my head back and laugh at the absurdity of it.

"If you were not already with us, Bishop, I think we'd need to have you created by a master wizard just for the fun of it." I said, wiping my eyes. "I tell you what: I'll start compiling a list of essences we'd need, just in case."

He stared at me with hazel eyes narrowed to slits. I felt every drop of that bucket of water down on my back all of a sudden, but refused to acknowledge the murderous intent I could clearly see in his eyes, let alone being intimidated by it. Whatever he wanted to achieve with his twisted little games simply could not reach me in light of the past couple of hours spent underground.

"Well, you tracked us down." I continued, with a small smile that, I hoped, matched the coldness of his stare. "What now?"

"I think you just insulted me." he said softly. 'Watch it, holy girl. I am not always this nice."

"Me neither." I held his gaze. "In fact, I am in a rather bad mood. You'd do well not to test it any further. What does Sand want?"

He slid his hand slowly to his belt, never taking those dead eyes off me. All my remaining nausea departed me at once; I curled a feet slowly under, ready to spring, fingers gripping a fistful of dirt and dead grass to fling into his face if needed. One thing I learned after the first few days of traveling with Bishop—never, ever make the mistake of underestimating the man, and always be on your guard around him.

The moment passed; I knew from the way his shoulders relaxed. He shrugged, lips drawn into a tight little smile again.

"What does _he_ want, you ask?" He pulled his hand out of his belt. A gold coin flickered in the light of sunset as he flipped it into the air. "_He_ wants to know, I guess, about this unauthorized little excursion you took." He kept putting a strange emphasis on the word 'he' twice now that I did not care for, not at all. "You were supposed to go back to the Flagon like a good girl, and instead, what do you do? "

I could not help myself: the coin's rise and fall drew my eye. His words rained down around me like icicles that, despite being utterly devoid of emotion, prickled my cold skin like burn marks.

Damn, this man was _dangerous_.

"Let Crazy Druid and Curvy Tiefling wander around Blacklake while you run off from your keepers with Milord Mystery over there?" He shook his head. "Holy girl, holy girl. They won't be happy, let me tell you. For starters, it cost them a pretty penny to get me on your trail. I don't do charity work for anyone else but you. So…" flick, flick, flick, "…when the call of the handy enchantment on this coin reaches him, the elf hound will come running, never you fear. And then," he shrugged again, the coin disappearing in his belt again, "oh, then, holy girl, I _really_ want to be around to hear what he has to say to you."

He tailed me to the gate, whistling nonchalantly between his teeth. I ignored him, as I knew he was baiting me again—the song he whistled was Lord Darnell's ballad. I was also shivering by then; Uktar was not the right month to walk around in wet clothes, especially wet clothes under metal plates. I was wondering why there was no one around.

I got the answer to that as soon as we reached the entrance.

There was a large coach, drawn by four horses, coat-of-arms on the door, standing just outside. As I walked up, I saw red-eyed, disheveled Lisbet hastily bundled into it by two women, one of them in the white-red habit of the Ilmateri. They got in with her and closed the door. The coach sped away—now I could see more than half a dozen men, dressed in plainclothes but moving with the awareness of great predators, milling about.

"Arrighan!" I heard Kyli's high voice from behind one of them. She deftly ducked the man who was quietly talking to Casavir and run to me, not even slowing down as she hugged my waist fiercely, burying her face in my cloak. "Were there really _shadows_? That's what Lisbet said. And you fought them? I'd have been so scared!"

"Sweetheart…" I tried to disengage her from my cloak, gently. I still had bits of undead clinging to it, not to mention the blood. "I gave you my word. I had to get your sister out safely."

"_No one_ gave me their word before." Kyli finally let go and looked up at me: tears smudged all over her face. "No one." She was still holding onto my cloak with one hand when the man with Casavir turned.

"Squire Pendwyr…" The exact copies of Kyli's bird-black eyes were looking at me from a scraggy visage covered with auburn beard and moustaches. "I am Devon Bryce." His grip on my hand was strong and firm. "I am in your debt for getting my daughter back—and for exposing a dangerous sore festering in the midst of Neverwinter as well. " His other hand took my elbow and steered me firmly away from the entrance. "I will be sure that the evidence you gathered will be in front of Lord Nasher tonight." Behind him, his men were moving into the cemetery, two remaining at the entrance.

"Milord… Sir Devon…" I found my voice at last. "There are… bodies down there that…"

"Don't worry." I had to remind myself that this was one of the Nine. "We will see to it that those… affected by these tragic events are informed accordingly."

"What he _really_ says, holy girl, is that it will all be smoothed out, never mind the trail of bodies you leave in your wake." Bishop observed, materializing by my side, dark amusement in his voice. "You are precious, I told you. Whatever you and your pet did down there, will be made as…"

I saw Sir Devon's eyes darken, but never learned what would have happened should he responded to Bishop's remarks. With great rattle, a carriage drew up to the gate, turning at the corner with such speed that the horses' hooves struck sparkles on the pavement. It slowed down, but was still in motion when the door swung open.

"Get inside, and fast!" Sand hissed, leaning out, face pale and drawn. "All three of you, now." He nodded once, to Sir Devon. "Milord Bryce. I was… made to understand that you will take care of the situation here?"

"Fear not, wizard." The knight of the Nine stepped back, bent down and took his daughter in his arms. Kyli clung to his neck, face snugly in the crook of his neck. "You take your charge, I take mine. Squire…"He nodded to me. "I shall see you the day after tomorrow."

This was my first time, ever, to travel in a closed carriage—haycarts I knew well from back home. This was most decidedly not one of them. Not that I could really appreciate the fine cushions and the comfortable, almost padded feeling of the suspension, no. I was too busy receiving almost weapons-grade stares coming from an elven wizard who barely came up to the tip of my nose.

"I am not going to insult your intelligence, or mine, for that matter, by pointing out the utter foolishness of this whole…expedition of yours, merely a day away from the trial. Especially not in front of the ranger here. "

There was a snicker from the corner of the carriage where Bishop was lurking, arms thrown around the back of the seat casually.

"Hoo-boy." he said, shaking his head. "I am glad I have a prime seat for this…it's better than a mime."

"It is my fault, wizard." Casavir was sitting ramrod straight facing Sand, his face bearing the mask of discipline, utterly ignoring the ranger. "It was my request to accompany me that brought my lady Arrighan to the cemetery."

Sand's eyebrows went up.  
"Look." he said, reasonably calm, albeit still pale. "I am not placing blame. Neither am I asking about what transpired--you probably saved lives and prevented great evils, judging by Sir Devon's reaction." The wizard sighed, leaned back and rubbed his nose. "Furthermore, I am not even asking you to explain what the hells one of the Nine, his younger daughter and about a dozen of his selected men were doing at the oldest and loftiest cemetery of the city. Truth to tell, I'll probably get briefed about it in the morning anyway." He rubbed his nose again. "And while I certainly have the seniority, both in years and experience, in this present company, I respect the fact that you are adults and possess your full capacity to understand you own actions and their consequences." He looked at me and softened his gaze--all of a sudden he seemed very tired. " Just please, promise me you are not going anywhere tomorrow to save any more lives or scratch any itch you might have, because…"

"Wizard, you are forgetting yourself!" snapped Casavir. I closed my eyes for a second. Why oh, why was he so short tempered lately? He kept barking at the wrong people and for the wrong reasons.

"Am I, really?" Sand raised an elegant eyebrow. "Than pray tell me how anyone else in my place as a defense attorney in the most anticipated trial since that of the lady Aribeth, would interpret what just happened today? And _how will the ambassador of Luskan_? Because make no mistake about it, she will learn about it—Luskan infiltrated this city so thoroughly it is a disgrace." He stabbed a finger at Casavir. "Of all people, you really should have known what this might do with her repu…"

"Enough!!!" I punched the seat, hard. There was a loud cracking sound as the cushion's cover ripped apart under my gauntlet. That last Bull's Strength apparently hasn't worn off. I didn't care. "There are three grown-up men in this fucking coach, and you all behave like a bunch of eight years old. I am _sick _of it, you hear? I did what I did and I had my reasons, which I would be perfectly willing to elaborate on to anyone who dares to ask, in front of the entire court of Nasher, if needs to be." I glared each of them in turn. "But I am _not _your toy, and _not _your prize, and _not _your precious gem to be preserved, so this whole thing of 'it's my fault,' and 'you should have known better' and 'hehe, you got caught' better stop right now, otherwise I am getting off this damned cart and set fire to the Luskan embassy for sacrilege against Tyr instead of being a good girl who does everything by the book!" I leaned forward, feeling the fire of my words speeding through my veins, counteracting the chill of my slowly drying clothes. "I have blood on my blade from a bunch of rich and bored kids who were perfectly law-abiding little citizens and yet willing to tear me apart with their spells of darkness, all in the name of their cult leader who probably even has _tax records _somewhere. It is I who'll have nightmares seeing their faces and wondering about what would have been if their parents, too busy to care, noticed just what their children have been up to." My voice arched steadily upwards; I took a deep breath and slapped the seat again, full force. There was that ripping sound again. "By Tyr's maimed hand, it is _my _problem if such things are going on unchecked, because evil _will _triumph if supposedly good people worry more about appearances and what-ifs than about what's really going on and let others tell us what to do." I pulled my last words around me like a cloak. "There are laws, but Justice must be served."

Everyone was quiet for the rest of the trip, and that was just as well. I really didn't think I was up to saying anything after that. I listened to the rattle of the carriage, closed my eyes and concentrated on willing my teeth not to chatter as the driver cantered through the evening streets of Neverwinter.

I swept off the coach as soon as it stopped moving, not sparing a glance to anyone but our driver, whom I thanked as courteously as I could. Into the Flagon I walked, with its windows brightly lit, Grobnar's fiddle music filtering through the thin windows. I welcomed the warmth with its overpowering smell of sour ale, unwashed bodies, tobacco and garlic—this was like homecoming after the stench of the crypt or the inside of the coach, scented with the metallic tinge of my anger.

"Arrighan!" Duncan ran up to me, hands hastily wiped on his bar towel. His shirt was suspiciously clean and crisp, and he only smelled of soap, nothing else. "You are back! And you are all right!"

Which was _exactly _the bad thing to say. I did not need another fretting male fussing over me like I was a girl sprung from a nunnery by some lecherous noble intent on robbing me of my virginity.

"Yes, Duncan, it's me." I swept him aside with a not-so-gentle push on his chest. "I am alive, and unharmed. Go tend to your customers…I'll be in my room. See you in the morning." With that, I was off towards the stairs, not even sparing a glance to anyone else, especially not to the trio pushing the door open just behind me. They could join Duncan in staring after me open-mouthed for all I cared.

I was busy peeling the last of my sodden clothes off after finishing removing my armor when there was a knock at my door.

"I am not here for anyone!" I called out, still feeling the last of that pulsing anger.

"You decent?" There was only one person I knew who could commit the almost-sacrilege of opening a door that they were told not to come through.

"No, Neesh, I am not…" I grabbed a towel and wrapped myself in it, hastily. "What is this?" I stared incredulously as the tiefling walked in, carrying two bottles and some glasses, with Elanee and Shandra in tow, carrying more stuff.

"We came to commiserate." Neeshka explained, arranging her load on my small table that already looked crowded. When the other two finished putting their things down, it resembled a miniature version of Sal's bar downstairs. "With the appropriate tools of the trade." She clapped her hands. "_And_ you look like you need it, so my hunch was right." Her eyes sparkled up with mischief as she tilted her head on one side. "So: you going to put something on, or should we also strip…?"

"Gods, Neesh!" I did not know for a second if I should laugh or cry. "You sure are shameless."

"Like you don't need it." she said, defiantly. She flopped on my bed, patting the quilt next to her. "Here, sit here like a good aasimar and fill us in, willya?"

"Not before you pour me something." I eyed the bottles with some mistrust. "And where is Qara, anyway? I thought this was a girls' party?"

"That's…one of the reasons why I am going to have at least half of _this_." murmured Shandra, lifting a flagon full of something slightly green. She shuddered.

"Our little princess… objected to the direction Duncan and Shandra's… relations took." explained Neeshka. I watched in fascination as she employed her tail to both grab and open a bottle.

"She's… sulking." Elanee said. "She's kind of… soggy, too."

"I can relate to _that_." I said, shaking out my wet garments that I just tossed on the floor before they walked in. "The wet part, I mean. " I added hastily, looking at Shandra. She blushed, rather prettily.

"Oh, good." she grinned, a bit shy. "I wasn't sure how you'd react. You were a bit… curt in the morning."

"She is _always_ curt in the morning, Shandra." Neeshka explained while Elanee uncorked another bottle of wine and poured me some. "It's that coffee addiction of hers. Very unhealthy, if you ask me."

"I am _not_ addicted." I retorted indignantly. It is hard to look dignified when all you wear is a towel. "Well, not much, anyway…Thanks, El." I took the glass from the druidess and stuck my nose into it. "Mmmm…that's nice."

"'s a ten-year old Cormyran red, Rig, so drink it slow." said Neeshka. "I told you I'll have something special."

"So: Qara did _what_, anyway?" I sat down next to the tiefling and watched Shandra and Elanee arrange themselves on my single chair and a pillow on the floor, respectively. "Tried to set anything on fire?"

"Mh-hmmm." Elanee nodded, busy sipping her drink. "Shandra, actually." I think I made a noise, but she continued in the same calm tone. "It seems little Qara had an… unrequited crush on our dear innkeeper. But don't worry, I think now she knows better than start that kind of thing while I am around." She looked a bit smug.

"Yeah, that's an understatement." Shandra nursed her drink like it was about to explode if she wasn't careful. Judging by the vapors emanating from it, it was a possibility. "Never piss off a druidess with command of Create Water, Geyser and Frost Breath, especially if you are an impulsive sorceress with penchant for fire spells, that's all I'm saying." She peeked into her glass and added, grinning, as an afterthought. "Heh."

My head started spinning a bit, and I barely even took a sip.

"You really should have been there." said Neeshka, her freckles dancing. "It was quite a catfight; good thing the Flagon was barely open. It started just before evening rush." She poured herself from the bottle she was holding. "Actually, Qara reminded me of my own self when I was seventeen…"She sighed. "Except that I'd have just, if all else fails, steal his eyes out, steal the other girl's eyes out and then run like hells…" She sighed. "Ah, happy times…"

"Neesh!" I said, mildly scandalized. Only mildly, though. That Cormyran red was _really_ nice. I took another sip. "I don't need to hear about your escapades, it hurts my aura."

I looked at Shandra.

"Somehow I missed this entire Qara-pining-for-my-uncle part… how did that happen?"

Shandra just snorted. The level of alcohol in her bottle was diminishing rapidly. That farm girl could pack in her drink, I give her that. Given what apparently happened to her, I could sympathize. Givenn that there were absolutely no marks on her, I could only assume that Elanee employed a couple of healing spells on her, too.

"She's seventeen, Rig, and spoiled like a princess." Elanee smiled her slow, understanding smile. For an elf, she sure could delve into the motives of mortals pretty well. _It probably was a druid thing_, I wondered lazily. "Scrubbing tables and serving drinks is as new to her as, well…adventuring for Shandra, shall we say? Duncan was always nice to her, but at the same time, kept her in line as much as possible. And, while she probably respects you in a grudging sort of way, you are not around much." She shrugged gracefully. "So she kind of decided in her head that she was in love with your uncle, pretty much the only male who was nice to her. For all her talk and scowling, our sorceress is really just a seventeen-year old spoiled brat."

"Oh, gods." I took a large gulp, emptying my glass. "Save us from puppylove."

"What, words of experience?" Neeshka elbowed me, eyeing my wet clothes I just draped over my clothes chest. "Speaking about wet clothes and puppylove, it seems your day took a very interesting turn after we…"

"You really don't want to go there." I looked at her, but she was grinning ear to ear. "I mean it, Neesh!"

"_What_ever." Neeshka shrugged, then made a little squealing sound. "Oh, shit! I forgot!" She jumped off the bed. "Be right back! I forgot your truffles!" she explained as she run out the door. "And don't let her go off on a righteousness speech, girls!" she added with a grin before she closed it.

"Remind me, El, when did I agree to have this party in my room?" I slid off the bed and started to fish for some clean and dry clothes. "And even if I did, I was not aware it would turn into…" I gave up: that Cormyran started spreading warmth in my veins rather nicely, so I just grabbed my house-robe from under my quilt and pulled it on over my towel, cinching the belt at waist.

"Here, let me refill that." Elanee said, taking my glass from the bedside table I put it before pulling my robe out. "This is really rather good. "

"I agree." I looked at her sharply over the rim of my glass. "El, what the heck you guys think I was doing today?"

Before she could answer, Neeshka pushed the door in again.

"'m back." she announced, balancing several black boxes on her arm. "Here you go…"

"That's a lot of truffles, Neesh." I eyed the boxes uncertainly. "I hope you all help me with it…"

"I _so_ hoped you say that." she grinned. "But no, it's not just truffles." She pulled out the bottom box that had some ribbons on it with her tail and flicked it at me. I caught it with one hand while holding my wine glass up high and out of the way. "Oooh, pretty move!" she said appreciatively. "Anyhow, it occurred to me and El that you will have a rather wonderful dress delivered here tomorrow, but that maybe…ehm…" she looked at Elanee and coughed, "…maybe whatever you'd wear _under_ it is not… quite up to par with that particular garment… so…"

"Hey." I said warily, and pointed to my chest. "Remember, this is a paladin here…underthings are not exactly high on my list of priorities. As long as they are functional…"

"Exactly, that's what we thought too." murmured Elanee.

"So, that's what's in that box." Neeshka said. "You don't have to open it right now, I know you are kind of shy that way." she added with the facial expression that said the exact opposite.

"You got me…truffles and underthings…?" I put the box on the bed and sat next to it, turning my wineglass around in my hand. "But…"

"Oh, sweet Sune's smile…what's up now?" Neeshka sighed, seeing my face. "Come on… I already listened to Shandra gushing about Duncan for _hours_, there is a certain member of the Nine downstairs who makes Elanee drop things every time he looks at her…"

"Does not." Elanee interjected mildly, but she had a smile on her face that lit up her eyes in a way I haven't seen before.

"Does too. " Neeshka stuck her tongue out. "Don't worry, you can keep Darmon—he's too lawful for me, even though that ponytail of his is awful cute." She ripped open one of the smaller boxes and offered it around. "Truffles, anyone?"

There was quiet for a while: the four of us sipped our respective drinks and munched on chocolate.

"Mmph." I announced at last, after the second box, and looked around. "Those are even better than I remember."

"Ut-terly sinful." Shandra was kind of sliding down the chair; in about five heartbeat's time, I estimated, she would end up on the floor in front of it. She giggled. "Funny: the last time I had chocolate, I was a little girl. About ye high."

"No way." Neeshka shook her head.

"Why, do you think there are confectioner's shops lining the High Road between Fort Locke and Highcliff?" Shandra snorted. "I am a farm girl, regardless of what my grandfather might have done while he was alive. Farm girls don't get chocolate. Farm girls don't even get the nice guys. Farm girls get calluses on their hands."

"Same in the swamps." I nodded. "First time I had one of those was here in the City. Sinful is the right way to describe them… after eating two of those one evening, I felt like I had to go to confessions." I extended a hand. "Give me some more, Neesh. Please." I added after some consideration.

"So swamp girls don't get the nice guys either, hm?" Yep, she was down on the floor allright. "Shame, really."

"Yep." I wasn't sure what made me say that, but I caught myself continuing. "West Harbor is not known for having nice guys—they normally leave as soon as they can. But it's okay… I mean, Bevil was nice, but totally fallen over Amie, head over heels, and she would not even notice him, she was so busy studying to be a mage." I looked at Shandra. "And, by the way—you got a nice guy now; _ergo_, you are not a farm girl any more." Part of me was wondering furiously about just what made me say that—the other part of me reached out and poured more wine in my glass. "_QED_." I tipped the glass towards him in a salute.

Shandra giggled and looked at Neeshka.

"Help…she's going all paladin on us!" She made a face. "It's sweet of you to say that, you know? I was…so scared you would…oh, I don't know, smite me or something because of Duncan and I…"

I stared at her.

"Shandra…am I really that uptight?" I looked around. "Come on, you two, help me here…am I?"

"Um, Rig…" Neeshka came over and hugged my shoulder. "I hate to break this to you, because you are, like, my favorite paladin ever, but you stared daggers at them this morning so badly you couldn't even finish your breakfast. Remember?"

I buried my face in my hands for a second.

"Gods." Yes, I remembered. "I am sorry… I totally forgot, too. There were…other things happening today." I upended whatever remained from the bottle of Cormyran in my glass. I was glad Elanee chose to share it with me, really. Otherwise I would have been in _serious_ trouble. "Ugly things." I emptied that glass so fast I didn't even remember in the next second I did it. I shuddered.

Elanee, Shandra and Neeshka exchanged glances. Rather startled glances, and that alone should have alerted me to what was coming.

"Look, dear." Neeshka started cautiously. "I mean… I don't want to pry, but… what _ugly_ things, exactly?"

"Are you _hurt_?" Elanee frowned, eyeing an ugly purple bruise on my arm that I completely forgot about. "I would not have thought that… "

I looked at them, understanding dawning rather slowly.

"Ye gods." I said, carefully enunciating every syllable. "You thought… you thought that Casavir and I…" The utter absurdity of that hit me so hard, combined with the haze of the wine that I couldn't withstand the wave of hysterical laughter that assaulted me out of nowhere. I surrendered (I am sure the wine helped a lot), falling back on the bed, my body shaking with the fits of squealing giggles. They watched me with eyes growing huge with concern, while I turned on my side, pulling my knees up, until my giggles, mixed with sobs subsided slowly and I could sit up again.

Then I took a deep breath and told them what happened since I parted Neeshka and Elanee outside Hassim's shop.

By the time I finished, we didn't have too much left in those bottles.

"I am _still_ going to kill Bishop on principle. "said Neeshka, her tail swishing wildly. "I've never seen a more manipulative bastard in my life, and that's saying a lot, given the crowd I used to hang out with." She shook her head. "Sand came in, just after we returned from Blacklake with all our packages and stuff, looked around, went utterly pale, and started asking us why the hell we were here when we were supposed to be with you… Then he kept clutching his hair saying things like "_and I cannot even track her down because none of my spells is able to anchor on her_" or something… That's when Bishop piped up from his usual corner with his smarmy "_I hear you need something tracked, wizard—how urgent is it for you, and for your handlers?"_ You know? The way he does that smug smile thing, like he knows he's your only chance to get something done, because he's always listening and waiting for just the right moment to slide that in, that it's only he who could help… " She paused, taking a deep breath. "Although he is a damned good tracker, to find you in this city that fast."

"The second best I've ever known, after my foster-father. " I nodded. "And yes, he tracked us down all right. "I made a face. "Although I am just a little bit suspicious about the timing." They all looked at me. "I mean," I continued, gesturing with an almost empty bottle in my hand, "… don't you find it a bit too convenient that he just popped out of nowhere exactly as we got out of that crypt? The gods cannot be that cruel, surely. I can totally see him getting there, peeking in and deciding that he'd much rather wait outside until we either finish off the ugly things down there, or, well…" I shrugged.

"Yikes." said Shandra with feeling, and we all nodded in unison.

"More truffles, ladies?" Neeshka asked, peeking sadly into the last box. "Given that story, I feel the need for getting utterly trashed by alcohol and chocolate. And I thought I'd be hearing a totally different story tonight!" She handed the box around, then looked at me. "I have this feeling I'd have to apologize furiously, except…" She giggled--it proved infectious. I felt my lips pull into a rather silly grin too. "No, seriously!" she shouted, waving us off when our respective snorts of laugher subsided. "Seriously…" she looked at the empty bottle in my hand and stood up. "I need to get more wine." she announced.

"I really don't think we need any more…" I started, my "dutiful daughter of Tyr"-self getting the upper hand for a minute, but I got waved down. With a pillow thrown at me as an exclamation mark.

"You shut up." Shandra announced imperiously. Neeshka giggled and slipped out the door. "You need some fun in your life right now, and if that involves plying you with a lot of alcoholic drinks than that's what we gonna do." She put a hand in front of her mouth and looked at me apologetically. "I can't believe I just said that…sorry."

"It's okay." I said, hugging her shoulder. "I forgive you. Just will add some extra exercises to your practice routine in the morning." I very carefully put the empty bottle down, next to the others already on the floor. "An' I apologize for being such a tightwad this morning." I said, straightening. "I had a bunch- a-rough days, and some more coming…What?" I looked at Shandra. "What's with the giggles, now?"

"It's funny…" she said. "You speak…different."

"That be on account of me being slightly drunk." I said truthfully. That never-lie thing was working again. "I have tae be drunk or angry for this, these days."

"It's…cute." _Oh dear_. There was the C-word again.

"Sweetheart, I'll have to introduce you tae Bevil, then." I grinned. "You think this is cute, you wait 'til you hear him." I made a face, considering. "Then again, maybe not. You being all family now and that."

"Huh?" Shandra's head started to kind of droop towards my shoulder. "What was that?"

Elanee was watching us with one of her more serene smiles, but said nothing.

"I said…" I started to say, but then Neeshka fell in through the door, clutching a couple of bottles, laughing so hard she could barely stand.

"You all… need to see this!" she gasped when she finally got her bearings back. "Seriously! I think I still have some Invisibility potions left in my room…" The three of us just stared at her. "No, really…" She dissolved into a fit of giggles for a few seconds, then recovered, wiping her eyes. "It's Khelgar, Sand and Casavir sitting in a corner, drinking." Her eyes sparkled with pure hysterical laughter as she whispered. "And…they are thoroughly, completely and utterly _cooked_!" She waved the bottles in her hand. "Come on, ladies… who wants to spy on _that _conversation?"


	25. Who Will Flirt With Me?

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**--**_**Okay: the silliness continues, ladies and gents, because after one gets the ladies drunk, the boys need to have their fair share too, right? I'll get back on track in the next chapter…--**_

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections. It really helps me to get better, so please feel free to leave a review. Thanks for all of those who have already done so—you guys are great!**

**There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things. Hence the M rating so far.**

**This chapter's soundtrack included the following: **_**Two Hornpipes (Tortuga**_**) from Hans Zimmer's **_**Pirates of the Caribbean**_** soundtrack and two pieces from Capercaille's **_**Beautiful Wasteland: Co Ni Mire Rium (Who Will Flirt With Me?) **_**and **_**Kepplehall/ 25KTS**_

**And, as always, I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… Arrighan is entirely my fault, though.**

**Chapter Twenty-Five: Who Will Flirt With Me?**

At the end, we had to devise a veritable strategy.

"So… this is how they sit." Neeshka used some of the empty bottles to indicate the situation in the common room, while I hastily donned a shirt and trousers under my old sleeveless leather jerkin I normally only used when I worked the pell. "Unfortunately, Bishop is right _there_ at the next table," she used another bottle a bit away from the rest, "and that might be a problem. He has those blasted ranger senses of his all tuned up, even when he's drinking."

"On that note…" Elanee said as thoughtfully as she could, considering the amount of alcohol we had, "…what about the wizard and his arcane senses? If he has any Detect magic left running…"

"Nah, I told you he's _totally _creamed." Neeshka waved a hand. "I have no idea what you said to them on the way back, dear, that made them drink this heavy…" she patted my hand, "…but I'd _love_ to listen in before they got to the stage where they just fall under the table."

I shook my head as I pinned up my hair. I still had trouble difficulty imagining this scene. And that, my guilt over exploding at everyone in the coach, and the ten-year old Cormyran red together convinced me to go along with Neeshka's plan. However insane it seemed.

Elanee went ahead and got all of us a bit sobered up with some of her specially modified Remove Poison spells. I had to admit, I've not realized half of the practical uses of a lot of spells I've only seen in combat before. When I mentioned this to her, she just smiled that serene smile of hers that made me feel like I was ten years old again, gently tapped my shoulder and said that maybe we should talk later… Then Shandra went downstairs. She said she volunteered as a diversion and, besides, she had to help Duncan who was without his other barmaid for tonight, given Qara's little incident earlier today. Neeshka murmured something under her breath about her chickening out.

"I personally… appreciate her… _sacrifice_." I said, trying to keep a straight face as she retrieved those little vials of Invisibility from her room for the three of us. "It really would have looked suspicious if all of us just disappear…"

Neeshka snorted.

"Rig, we're gone for quite some time now… it really wouldn't have mattered." She handed out the vials. "Now…we all remember what we discussed, right?"

"Come on, Neesh… neither of us are _that_ drunk…any more." I added with a bit less certainty. "Yikes!" It was one of Sand's potions, no doubt--the licorice made my mouth pucker. "So how long does this take?"

"You never took Invisibility before?" Neeshka looked at me incredulously.

"What would I have used it for?" I pointed at my chest. "_Paladin_, remember…? Invisible or not, I am not much use for sneaking around. Not in armor, anyway." I added, sourly.

Both of them rolled their eyes.

"Great, El." Neeshka sighed. "Now it's too late to think about that… oops, it's started. "she said as she looked at me. "It always feels funny at first… just don't fight it." Her smile turned wicked. "Like with other first things… Just try to enjoy it." She deftly ducked my mock blow directed to her head; then I was too distracted to worry about the meaning of her remark.

It was rather disorienting, the way my body went through the stages of disappearing. The faint tingling sensation was akin to other magic effects but with a tickle to it that made me want to giggle even more that I already had to.

Neeshka and Elanee also shimmered out of sight. I turned around, trying to see them, and felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Hey." I heard Neeshka's voice. "We need to practice a bit so we won't bump into each other, especially what with you never doing this before. Come on, follow my voice."

They had me walk around my room a few times to make sure I was used to knowing where my body was, even though I could not see it. Fortunately, training with weapons since age twelve raised my body awareness rather high, so after a few fumbles they both pronounced me capable of dealing with the challenge of the common room without any problems.

I felt like I was a kid again, spying on the adults, as we inched down the corridor from my room, down the stairs and into the common room. It was not packed, but did enough of a brisk trade that it required skill and concentration to wade through. Unfortunately, as soon as we cleared the first sizeable group, we saw that there was a problem: the table Neeshka indicated was occupied by others.

"Shiiit." she breathed right by my ear; she was holding my hand, just like Elanee had a hand on my shoulder. "They went somewhere… let's see we can move into a corner and then I try to go over to Shandra and ask her what's going on."

So we did just that; I was almost entirely sober by then, and started to really regret that I went along with the whole idea. _What would this accomplish,_ I grumbled to myself, _except deep embarrassment if we are discovered? You are out of your mind, Arrighan Pendwyr, obviously, due to combat and emotional fatigue-- you need your bed and a good night's sleep, not sneaking around invisible to listen in on conversations you have absolutely no right to…_

"Okay, this is even better." Neeshka's voice, disembodied and feather-light made me jump. Both of them chuckled. "They are back in our little private room, Shandra says… Khelgar dragged Grobnar with them too, so she suspects there will be singing any time now. So we have a Plan B. She is going to put a bunch more drinks on a tray for them in a minute and head for the door; we are to slip in with her."

"This sounds worse and worse by the minute." I grumbled.

"Come on…sense of adventure?" chided Neeshka. "Besides: paladins don't run, now, do they?"

"Consider yourself smitten, tiefling." I murmured, but felt my lips twitching into a smile. I clearly needed a diversion from what happened today, and from what lie ahead. And my friends wanted to provide me with one.

"Here we go…"Elanee breathed. "She's done with the tray…"

"Damn, that's some serious stuff." Neeshka said with some respect, and I had to agree. There were two full tankards of ale, a bottle of wine and a flask of something very similar to what Shandra had earlier, except that this was even greener. Plus a small clay flagon that was sealed with a thick layer of wax on top of the cork.

"What is _that_?" I wondered under my breath as we kind of oozed through the floor. They didn't answer, which was, as I realized a second later, perfectly justified. We wanted to remain invisible and carrying out a conversation while sliding through clusters of customers would have ruined that. Yes, this definitely was my first time.

If I was perfectly honest with myself, I wasn't sure I wanted a next.

I got the distinct feeling that Neeshka and Shandra had done this before: theirs was a suspiciously perfect timing that reeked of previous experience in teamwork the way I learned to recognize. As Shandra got to the door, she fussed just long enough rearranging her tray until we got there… well, I knew _we _got there because I was there and I felt a hand on my shoulder. As the door opened, Shandra pushed it wide open and stepped into the room, lifting the tray as if it was a bit heavy for her, allowing enough time for us to get through. It took a while—we had to maintain body contact all the time so we wouldn't lose each other. This, on the whole, was so much more complicated than it seemed after half a bottle of Cormyran.

"All right, this is your last round, I hope…" Shandra said loud, smiling broadly as she surveyed the group more or less sitting by the table in the middle of the room.

"And what gave you that notion, lass?" Khelgar asked loud. "Now, lad, I ain't sure that's a good idea…" he added, lifting a hand to forestall Casavir, who…

"But of course I need to help her." I had problems with this image. Was he really _swaying_ as he stood up? "It is my duty to… "

"Just sit down, Casavir." Shandra put the tray down in front of the men. "I can manage this quite handily. Remember-- farm girl?" She swatted his shoulder with her bar towel. "I said, sit… there's a good paladin. " She looked at Khelgar. "What did you give him?" she asked whispering.

By then, the three of us were safely ensconced in the corner where a couple of equipment bags were piled up, offering relative comfort to sit. I watched, mesmerized, as Casavir slowly got back to his chair, grabbing a rather large wine goblet and refilling it from the bottle Shandra just brought in.

"My _dear_ child…" drawled Sand, briefly lifting his head; he was holding his chin cupped in his palm, "By now, you should know that it is entirely impossible to make a paladin do anything he or she does not want." He sighed wistfully. "Especially a certain squire." He shrugged, a little bit more exaggerated than normally. "Our esteemed Katalmach did not have much else but that rather lousy Waterdeep wine Duncan keeps in his cellar, don't fret so."

"Khm… Sand…"Grobnar nudged the wizard; the gnome had wrestled with an ale tankard almost as big as Khelgar's. It was rather impressive. "That's actually… not quite accurate… because…"

"Silence, gnome." said Casavir, with dignity. "I _can_ answer for my own actions." He lifted a finger and waved it about as he spoke, pointing at assorted items on the table. "I had _pre-cisely_ one bottle of Duncan's rather mediocre wine, some of his ale, less-than-average, I am afraid, and about half of this rather smoky and peat-flavored malt spirit for some reason you, Grobnar, find so appealing, and which, I must admit, kind of grows on me, so…" He reached out and snatched the small clay flagon from the tray Shandra just put down. "So I say I will just see if this particular one is better than the first."

I felt my jaw hit the floor, watching him breaking off the wax seal from the bottle and very, very carefully pouring about an inch's worth of amber-colored liquid into his goblet, then looking at Sand.

"Wizard—any of this?"

"Oh no, my dear paladin." Sand shook his head, much slower than usual. "If I have a wish to taste peatmoss, I just travel to the Mere and fall on my face in a pond." He lifted the green bottle instead. "I will stick to this, if you don't mind."

"I told you he was a weakling…" snorted Khelgar dismissively. "But will ye listen? Nah, stubborn as an ox… gie me some of that." Casavir complied, and Khelgar downed the drink in one gulp, smacking his lips appreciatively after he'd done so. "Ah… good Leilon _uisce_… I haven't tasted the like since I traveled through that miserable excuse of a town." He belched. "Only redeeming feature of the place is this…" He pushed his cup closer to Casavir. "Another one, or are ye so enamored of it now that you won't share no more?"

"Um…it was _my _drink the first place..." said Grobnar weakly, looking on as the other two shared out the remaining content of the flask. "Never mind…"he whispered, forlorn.

"Come on, gnome." Sand broke out of his reverie over his green drink, looking at Grobnar with amusement. "Never you mind those two. They busy themselves with lesser toys, ignorant about everything but their crude base needs. It is time for you to have an _actual _taste of what real men… or elves, or… well, males, anyway…drink." He waved at the bottle before him, with a rather inebriated version of his usual hand gesture.

"And what is that?" Grobnar craned his neck. "It looks…green."

"Hah!" Sand leaned towards the gnome, but had to stay himself with his hand on the table. Grobnar blinked up at him with worry. "No, I am fine, fine… Nothing I cannot cure with some Cure Poison potions later, anyway…"he mumbled, barely audible. "This, my esteemed gnomish friend, is pure Elvish absinthe, distilled by the light of the twin moons by Elven maidens wearing nothing but their hair… Or, so the legend and the merchants say." he hastened to add, seeing Grobnar's face lit up with enthusiasm. "Me, I never believed that crap." He carefully measured out a tiny amount into Grobnar's goblet then poured a slightly more generous amount into his own. "Now: you be very, very careful, old chap…"he said to Grobnar, who took the goblet into both hands and stared into it with a look of anticipation on his face, "that you _exhale_ while you take a sip. Very, important, that." he added as he tasted his own cup. "Otherwise the consequences can be… Oh, dear."

Everyone watched in horrified fascination, as Grobnar, finishing his goblet, sat there for about five seconds with a strange, blissful smile on his face, and then slowly, very, very slowly, like a small, colorful heap of clothes, slid sideways…and then down from the chair and under the table.

"Hah! I was wrong." Khelgar announced, locking eyes with Casavir as each emptied their respective cups. It seamed that some kind of a complicated game was going on; Shandra sighed from the end of the table where she sat and scribbled something on a piece of parchment laying there. "I guess that bet was lost, eh?"

"Seems so, Master Dwarf." Shandra smiled sweetly. "This particular round was won by the wizard." She looked up from her parchment. "Looks like the stakes got a bit higher, doesn't it?"

Understanding dawned slowly on me. I shook my head, not quite believing. So this was a drinking contest, complete with _betting_? I could see Khelgar and even Grobnar… but Sand, and especially _Casavir_?

"I always said never trust 'em…"the dwarf mumbled. "'Specially when it's an elf _and_ wizard who's doin' the drinkin'…" He narrowed his eyes. "_You_ got a trick up yer sleeve too, lad? Spiked this _uisce_ with something, maybe?"

"We don't do… _tricks_." Casavir pulled himself up to his full height, which, I must say, even sitting was impressive. I felt a sharp elbow in my side: it must have been Neeshka. I had _no_ idea what that was for. "You really should know that by now, Khelgar." He lifted the bottle and shook it, slowly. "I am afraid this is empty, though…" He turned his head towards Shandra. "My dear, since it looks like we disposed of what you so kindly brought in so far in a somewhat hasty fashion, such a shame, really, that _uisce_ really does grow on me the more I have… would you awfully mind replenishing our supplies here?" He flashed a smile at her; she jumped up and scrambled furiously for her tray, slightly flushed.

_Uh-oh. So all I have to do is give him more of that… uisce thing and he turns into this?_

The thought settled down in my mind comfortably, and entirely inappropriately. I decided it was still the Cormyran red speaking. The next thought fluttering up from the depths of my mind, unsurprisingly, was… _My, my, goodness gracious me, he does look good without all that metal…_

He did. Even though I've seen him wearing less (granted, burned and bruised and covered in bandages) my heart gave a little lurch as I realized that his fine, loose-woven linen shirt had lace on it around the wrist and at the throat. _Very _fine and understated, nowhere near the extravagancy of Sir Grayson's flamboyant lace cuffs and ruffles, but lace nevertheless. _Well, of course, given his heritage and upbringing_… my inner self sniffled.

_Self, shut up_. I told myself sternly, and continued staring._ It is lovely lace. It is lovely…_

Neeshka once accused me of drooling at his sight, and while I would never, ever would have done that under any circumstances for any man… well, what's wrong with some staring? Especially when no one can see my face. And especially when he wore but that shirt, his pants, some soft boots and his sword belt.

Shandra, in the meantime gathered up her tray and some empty bottles and, still slightly flushed, left the room.

"Disgustingly unfair." mused Sand, smoothing a lock of dark hair behind his ear. "Next time I will insist to put it in the rules. 'No charming the serving wench using paladin charisma' is I believe how it should be worded."

"Shandra's no serving wench." belched Khelgar. "Excepting that, I agree. That was unfair advantage-taking, lad."

"I have _absolutely _no idea what you are talking about." Casavir said, marvelously dignified, I had to observe, then turned to Sand. "But since you two keep jabbing at me, remind me again, wizard, why am I here the first place?"

Sand opened his eyes wide.  
"I don't know, paladin… _why _are you here in the first place? Maybe because you were so worked up about how she…"

"Hey." said Khelgar mildly. Gentle sounds of snoring wafted up from under the table: Grobnar turned to his side, curled up, smiling mouth slightly open as he slipped into a drunken but happy sleep. "You two start to remind me the way you butt heads with the ranger, lad, "he pointed at Casavir, "so knock it off." He shook his head. "I know that Little Sister got you all riled up an' all, but…"

"Riled up? _Riled up_?" Sand made a half-laughing, half-choking sound. 'That's an interesting way of putting it, considering you were not even there, Khelgar." The wizard's hand wavered amongst the assorted tankards, flasks and bottles on the table, and closed around the green one containing the elven absinthe. "And now that you reminded me to the lowest moment of my life since I left…" he obviously bit something back there, "…since I left my previous employer, you are obligated to share a drink with me. " His eyes threw lightning bolts at Casavir, too. "And you too, Mr. Righteously-Carrying-Damsels-Into-Danger!"

"I would never do that knowingly, Sand, and you know it." Casavir was staring at his knuckles on the table in front of him; I felt a hand squeezing my arm lightly. "I do hold Milady Arrighan in the highest…"

Khelgar snorted. He grabbed the bottle from Sand's hand so fast I did not even see the move.

"Ye know, lad… I dinna mind if ye're in denial, but do it'n private, if ye please." He poured absinthe into his mug. "Yer amongst friends, here." He stared at Sand. "Right, elf?"

"Dwarves and their phobias…" sighed Sand. "Watch how much you pour from that, for Mystra's sake!" he hissed. "I don't want anyone's death by spontaneous combustion on my conscience." He shuddered. "I _especially _wouldn't want to explain to Arrighan. Here, let me show you how", he sniffed disdainfully, "_cultured _people drink this."

"I think I might just been insulted, there." said Khelgar a bit belligerently. "Are ye saying…?"

"Of course not." Sand hastened to reply. "Now put that bottle down, there's a good dwarf… and _watch_. Note how I am not saying 'learn' because, well…"

"Hey." said Khelgar warily. "Hey… did he just insult me again, lad?" he looked at Casavir who still had this frozen expression on his face from where Sand first mentioned me, and was busy staring into his goblet, his mirth gone.

"I would not worry about it." Sand shrugged. "You can either attribute it to an unselfconscious flex of my racial muscles, or to alcohol-induced belligerence. Either way, you won't remember much of it by the morning." I watched in fascination, as he pulled out a small, delicately etched silver spoon from the depths of his wizard's robe. He poured an inch's worth of green liquor into his glass goblet and placed the spoon to the rim. I fleetingly wondered how the hells Duncan got hold of glass goblets, since Casavir had one in front of him, too. Then I remembered that we kept a couple of them in this room just for our group. Duncan's normal customers would not have been appreciative, not to mention none of those would have lasted past the first evening.

"Now, children." Sand started, as Khelgar stared, and Casavir lifted his head up and started watching, the stiffness slowly easing out of his shoulders again (_and oh my, what nice broad shoulders those were_, my inner self sighed). It was the sign of just how much more affected I was by all of what transpired today that I did not even feel a twinge of shame over that thought. "_This _is the proper way to prepare and enjoy Elven absinthe." He pulled a small container towards him that had lumps of rock sugar in it-- Duncan left it there for those heretics amongst us who drank their tea or coffee sweetened. "A piece of this in the spoon," he placed a sugar lump in the spoon, "just so… Then we get some water… " Khelgar shuddered at this point, but kept watching as Sand reached for the water jug that, I was sure, was brought in as a joke. "…and carefully, oh so carefully, we pour it over the sugar, so the water trickles in through the spoon's perforations, melting the sugar in the process." The wizard stuck out the tip of his tongue as he concentrated: I found that utterly hilarious and had to force myself not to giggle. "And… behold, gentlemen!"

The bright green liquid in the goblet slowly turned into an opaque white, with only the slightest hint of its former vivid color.

"I think you could make money with that, Sand, in certain circles." Casavir observed dryly.

"Why, my dear knight, I will think you made either a joke or a veiled compliment." Sand raised an eyebrow. "Either way, I am _so_ glad your previous life is catching up with you. Manners are sorely lacking in this little band of adventurers, and witty conversation is so hard to come by." He pushed the goblet towards Casavir. "Now, remember what I told Grobnar?"

Casavir nodded.  
"I am assuming I am supposed to do the opposite?" he inquired, mimicking Sand's raised eyebrows almost perfectly.

"Oh no." Sand shook his head with a little smile; his hands were busy preparing the next drink. "Exactly the same. Exhale while drinking. If you feel some tingling of the mouth, the ears or the toes, or maybe…..other parts," he paused delicately, "that is perfectly normal."

"Hmmm." Casavir eyed the glass with some reservations. "How about I wait until you finish two other ones and we all drink at the same time? No offense."

"Oh, none taken, none taken." Sand said nonchalantly. "As you wish, of course."

I punched the air with my fist, triumphantly; I started to discover some advantages of being invisible. I was also unreasonably proud of that response from Casavir.

So he waited with his arms crossed in front of his chest (my inner self sighed again) until the wizard prepared Khelgar's and his own drink, his blue eyes trained on Sand's hands moving between sugar container, water jug and goblets.

"Well?" Khelgar took up one of the three drinks at random, and sniffed at it, before Sand could do anything. "Hah. Smells like green things." He smoothed his moustaches down, then lifted the goblet. "To yer health, poncy elf, may yer beard grow eventually."

He downed the absinthe in one gulp, not even pausing once.

Sand coughed delicately.

"My dear dwarf, that was touching." he said slowly. "Even more so, since…ah, _there_ it is." He leaned back in his chair and touched his fingertips together, as Khelgar slowly, very, very slowly fell back, chair and all, stiff as a board, and landed with the thud of a completely unconscious dwarf on the floor.

"Hmmm." Casavir raised his eyes from his goblet and eyed Sand. "I suspect this has some side effects on the …shorter species?"

Sand shrugged.

"_No one_ listens to me. I told him not to inhale. I told Grobnar not to inhale." He pointed a finger at Casavir, and his voice took on an edge. "For that matter, _you_ are not listening to me when I am telling you not to have wild adventures with a certain lady a day before her trial, but that's an old bone we worried over about a dozen times, and I have no intention of repeating it more than necessary. So take you glass, empty it without inhaling, and I shall do the same." He shrugged again. "And then, we shall see if your constitution is up for handling _that_ on top of everything else you already had, including all the emotional baggage you carry."

"You presume much, wizard." Casavir said slowly. I could feel some thunderclouds brewing from the way his aura was swirling—I could not help but feel it.

"I can smell it, paladin." said Sand, leisurely sloshing the drink in his glass. The air grew thick in the room all of a sudden, the tension palpable—it was made all the more bizarre by the dual snoring of Grobnar and Khelgar. I felt another squeeze on my arm.

"I can smell them all, quite distinctly." Sand flashed a smile. "Your duty. Your obligations. Your old war wounds. Your obedience. Your repressed anger. Your pride."

_What_ was he doing? Yes, both of them were quite drunk, that was obvious—but I had no idea in wizards this manifested in aggressive goading… Did he have a suicide wish? The way Casavir's muscles were straining under his shirt, he was restraining himself with extreme willpower from jumping across the table and punching Sand in the face.

"I would… stop it." That came out more as a growl. He picked up his goblet very slowly. I was afraid the stem might snap between his fingers, but he held it with exaggerated care. "Right there."

"I cannot." Sand's voice was almost sad, and that finally made me understand what he was doing. _He's preparing him, still, and despite everything, for what he might face in the days or even weeks to come_. _In his cruel, sophisticatedly elven, emotionless and efficient way, he's trying to train him, just as he tried it with me._ It made me like him more, a little.

"I am sorry." Sand continued softly. "You need to understand. There is a trial coming up, that _will _take all her resolve, sap all her strength, all her willpower and requires _everything_ she has. It will be ruthless and merciless, and expose everything she did since she came to Neverwinter. We are facing someone behind Torio, Casavir, who is perfectly willing to make mockery out of your god and drag your name through the mud _yet again_ as well, to discredit and possibly kill Arrighan." He leaned forward. "Understand me: I have no doubt that this trial _will_ be won. I know Tyr is on your side, and I know that we have all the mundane evidence we need too. However, regardless of that, I would much rather send her back to that undead- and cultist infected crypt you cleaned out today than make her go through this." He lifted his goblet to his lips and took a deep swig. "And you know why?" He wiped his mouth with his robe's sleeve—a rather unusual gesture from this always neat and graceful elf. "Because there, at least you'd be by her side. In that room in Nasher's palace the day after tomorrow… you won't be able to do anything but sit and watch, as she's savaged and dissected and thrown to the wolves in all manners of ways." He drank down the rest of his absinthe like it was an elixir giving life. "And, of course, you'll need to trust me to defend her with nothing but my wits and my cunning words. Not even with my spells." He snorted, in a most un-Sand like way; that was probably the drink finally hitting home. His eyes, however, were steadily fixed on Casavir. "Are you up to it, my lord? Do you trust me to get her through this? As for that matter: do you trust _her_?"

"I don't suppose you'll understand this, Sand…" Casavir sighed, "…but I trust her more than anyone I ever did." As Sand's head dipped in acknowledgement, Casavir raised his goblet, and before he drank it down in one, his voice rang out loud and clear, making me wish I could hear what he said over and over again. "To my lady Arrighan, now and forever."


	26. Are We In Trouble Now?

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections. It really helps me to get better, so please feel free to leave a review. Thanks for all of those who have already done so—you guys are great!**

**There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things. Hence the M rating so far.**

**This chapter's soundtrack included the following odd assortment:_Szerelem, Szerelem (Love, Love_) from Stellamara's _The Seven Valleys_, _Full of Grace _by Sarah McLachlan from_Surfacing_, and _Are We In Trouble Now _from Mark Knopfler's _Golden Heart_. Hope this will make sense…**

**And, as always, I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… Arrighan is entirely my fault, though.**

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Are We In Trouble Now**

No, I have no idea how I got back to my room. My hazy memories from the night included the rest of the bottles Neeshka procured and left in my room before we left for our 'information acquiring mission' as she put it later. I remembered her face, freckles dancing, crimson eyes with their corners tilted upwards, leaning closer, her hands and tail gesticulating wildly as she was describing the time when she met this paladin of Lathander in a theater in Waterdeep. Most of the details were lost in a pleasant haze of wine and other fine beverages. I knew that at some point that story took a decidedly risqué turn, making me blush so furiously that both Neeshka and Elanee threatened to throw me in some cold water to cool down. I also distinctly recalled that Neeshka tried to teach me some songs, although I wasn't so keen on the lyrics; that I tried to remember some songs from West Harbor that Amie liked so much; that at some point I broke out crying over that and they both comforted me with hugs. Then, when I got over that and got back to the giggling and sharing stories part, Elanee was humming something in Elvish in turn that she refused to translate. She also, at some point, jumped up—or tried to—and, blushing almost as bad as I did earlier, stammered out that she completely forgot that a certain dark-haired knight of the Nine was waiting for her downstairs… Neeshka kicked her out the door not too gently, then came back, poured us some more wine (this one was an oddly sweet but potent dark honey-colored one from Thesk; how it got to Duncan's cellar I could not even imagine), and continued with her story. Or with another one. I am not sure—things got rather fuzzy after that.

The only reason I woke up when I did was a ray of sunlight shining directly into my face through a slit of the curtains on the window. I groaned and slowly, _very _slowly tried to roll out of bed.

"This is the reason I don't drink…"I whispered through cracked lips. I felt like an entire family of pixies was taking very enthusiastic waltz lessons inside my skull and I did not even want to contemplate the taste of my mouth. I was in my clothes I had on last night, too and frankly, I _reeked_.

I started to remember some details of Neeshka's stories and was mortified. I also started to remember some of the questions she asked and some of the questions I did… and which directly contributed to the dreams from which I just woke up.

I shook my head to get _that_ out of my mind. That was a mistake. The pixies retaliated by speeding up the waltzing and putting on wooden shoes.

"And that's two days in a row I missed my devotions." I moaned, utterly shocked. The sun was definitely up.

There was nothing to it… at least I wanted to have my prayers said… but first, I needed to get clean from the sour stench of spent drink-sweat that clung to my skin in a thin film. I grabbed some clean clothes, rather mismatched, a towel, and, eyes still half-shut, ventured out to the corridor towards the women's bath.

"Mornin'." Neeshka was sitting in one of the tubs, utterly submerged in the sudsy water except her head. She waved her tail at me languidly. "I left some hot water, so help yourself. How you feelin'?"

"Do you really want to know?" I croaked out, eyes still not fully open. Light hurt. Talking hurt. Her voice hurt. The humming of the pipes in the bathroom hurt. The noises I could hear from downstairs hurt.

"Probably not." she agreed. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't do this very often either." She picked up her washcloth from the edge of the tub and spread it over her face, leaning back with a sigh. "_Definitely_ not very often."

That_did_ make me feel marginally better. Odd, that.

Firmly trying to ignore the pounding of the pixie family taking up residence in my head and the taste of swamp mud in my mouth, I slowly filled another tub with hot water, continuously blessing my uncle's name for having spent a lot on the magic furnace and pipes that provided it, and finally, shedding my smelly clothes I climbed in, letting out a content sigh. The hot water started to ease the aches in my limbs and the knots from my shoulders almost immediately. I also followed Neeshka's example and hid my face under a hot washcloth: that definitely helped with my headache.

"Hey, Rig?" I heard after a considerable amount of silence from the tub next to me.

"Mmm?" I said softly. The head still hurt, but I felt better and I did not want to risk any relapse.

"I meant to ask earlier when at Hassim's…" I could hear the hesitation in her voice, even from under the washcloth.

"Well…?" I fished around for the soap and the scrubbing brush, still not opening my eyes. Things slowly started to ooze out of my pores that needed to be viciously scrubbed off. I felt I knew what she's going to say next, anyway.

"Your… birthmarks…?" She paused, delicately. "Is that something that all aasimars have? Like me and my freckles?"

"I have no idea." It was odd, decidedly. I used to be so self conscious about my birthmarks, taking care to cover my shoulders, not talking about them, feeling like somehow they were something that had to remain hidden, like the fact that I had the blood of the Higher Planes. Since I could hardly do anything about my eyes or hair, at least the marks could be covered. Maybe being a child born out of wedlock and growing up as an orphan had something to do with it. And of course, that attack by the Mossfelds also played a big part.

When I looked at it hard, I had to realize that I did not mind _this_ group that gathered around me, this strange… family, composed of outcasts, misfits and miscreants know about them. Just the day before, I didn't feel the least amount of hesitation stripping down to my smallclothes to try the gown on in Hassim's shop. Likewise, I had no problems with climbing into the tub stark naked, with Neeshka in the next one. I never did this before, and the harder I looked at it, the less I understood what caused the change—but, at any rate, the pixies in my head did not exactly allowed for deep philosophical observations at the moment.

"I've never met another one of my kind… and remember that I didn't even know the name of my race until I met you. Or even that I had one." I leaned even further back. "All I knew was that I had celestial blood and that the god marked me to His service." I smiled. "My teacher was not exactly one inclined to give hour-long lectures. He had a more… shall we say, practical approach to paladinhood?"

"What, smite evil and look smashingly good in full plate?" She snickered.

"Something like that. Although Sir Aevan was not so handsome to look at." I remembered. "Forehead that carried wrinkles like the Sword Mountains, one eye missing, so black eyepatch… with a scar running across almost the entire left side of his face, huge ginger beard, hair to the shoulder… but his personality would have hit you like a thunderbolt. I was terribly afraid of him at first… " I wiggled my toes in the water experimentally to see if the pixies reacted to movement. They were quiet; my headache slowly ebbed to a persistent but tolerable throbbing behind my temples. "So, why did you ask about my birthmarks all of a sudden?"

"Well, they are unusual for starters. Two full marks, distinctly forming your god's symbols." she said, still a bit hesitant. I instinctively glanced at my shoulders: Tyr's hammer, entwined with the scales on the left, his sword with the scales on the right. "I mean, I heard that those with celestial blood get them, or other features, like eyes, gaze or hair color, they way us tieflings get the horns, or the eyes, or the tail, or the freckles."

"Hold on." I said slowly. "Are you saying…what? That it's an either-or thing and the fact that you have all of those and I have …"

I took the washcloth off my face and sat up; headache forgotten.

"Neesh, does this have any connection with how much extraplanar blood one has?"

She also lost the washcloth; her eyes were huge. Sitting in the tub with her knees hugged to her chest, she seemed much younger than her brash and confident streetwise self.

"That's why I asked…"she whispered. "I…" She swallowed. "I think you might be able to use that at the trial, somehow…?"

I was dumbfounded. She clearly was most uncomfortable discussing her ancestry; and still, she brought it up, risking the memories it dredged up, just that she can possibly help me out in my upcoming trial… That was pure unselfishness from the tiefling, and so uncharacteristic, that for a long time I could just sit there and stare at the slowly cooling water in my tub.

"Neesh…"I said at last. "I will have to think about that. Honestly, I have no idea how I could use it, but it might have possibilities." I smiled at her. "And thank you. Thank you for thinking about me, and… thank you for bringing something up that is obviously a rather painful subject to talk about"

"Yeah." she muttered into her hair, falling in wet strands in front of her face. "I never talk about it, do I?" She took a shaky breath. "Isn't this funny? I brought it up myself, so I cannot even blame it on anyone else that it upset me, huh?" She glanced at me, quickly. "I don't even know why… I guess it's because when you think no one's looking, you have this forlorn and... _lost_ look on your face since that Sir Nevalle brought the news about the accusation. Even last night when we tried to cheer you up." She looked up and some of the twinkles were back in her eyes. I knew she was changing the subject now, directing the conversation back from waters she did not want to venture, not yet. "It's not just Casavir who feels for you, you know."

"Gods, Neesh, don't you start that one up again!" I ducked my head under the water to hide my blush. "I mean, I appreciate the hells out of the fact that you and El and Shandra had that little… party for me last night, but…"

"Hey, we learned some interesting things, didn't we?" She winked and grabbed for her towel with her tail. With my head clearing, I started to recall some details of the questions I asked her, and I was very, very grateful that I could use that washcloth to vigorously scrub my face. "Like who can hold his drink best…" She wiggled her eyebrows. "An elf and a paladin… who'd have thought it? I mean, I can see Sand, kind of… he is a wizard specializing in potions and such here in the Docks, so he had to develop some kind of a substance resistance, huh? But seriously, _Casavir_?"

I swallowed. This conversation started to veer in a direction I decidedly did not want it to go. No, not once I recalled some details of my dreams.

_Gods, I need to go to confessions, and very soon._

Determined not to fall into the trap she so obviously set, I went for the offensive.

"Oh, I can see it." I answered nonchalantly; from the time spent in the hot water, my voice luckily was no longer a feeble croak. "Given his upbringing, I daresay he'd had the opportunity to strengthen his constitution." I picked up my towel from the stand and wrapped it around myself as I stepped out of the tub. "I mean… look at me. I am a paladin and I swear like a fishwife sometimes. Who said that another one of my order cannot hold their drinks?"

"Don't remind Khelgar." She shook the water out of her hair and rubbed it vigorously with her towel. "He'd never live it down. Bested by one of Tyr's again…"

I smirked. Yes. Khelgar probably was inconsolable by now. First he gets the floor wiped off with him by a bunch of the god's fighting monks, then he is bested in an impromptu drinking contest by not only a paladin but an elven wizard…

I followed Neeshka's example and started to get the water out of my hair. Mine was much longer than hers.

"See, this is what I am talking about." she said suddenly. "Your hair, Rig." she continued impatiently as I looked at her. "You always keep it pinned up like some of the nuns in Helm's House that taught us, orphans."

"What of it?" I said. Where was she going with this? "I have to… otherwise I cannot fight."

"Then why don't you just cut it, hmm?" She picked up a strand from my shoulder and run it through her fingers. "Gold: yellow, red and white, all in one. That's special."

"Huh?" I shrugged. "I don't cut it, because…well, because… It just doesn't feel right to cut it."

"Precisely." Neeshka nodded sagely and started to put on some clothes. "And I keep mine short because that's how it feels _right _for me. Weird, huh?"

"I guess." I said carefully. "You are odd today, Neesh."

"Must be the hangover." She yanked her tight pants on and started on her boots. "Don't mind me, I get this way occasionally. Just think about what I said about your birthmarks. Please?"

She was serious, by Tyr. My rogue, having a precognition moment? I've never felt her infernal blood manifest in anything else but her uncanny ability to walk without making noise, help purses to walk away from their owners and the occasional bawdiness.

"You want me to involve Sand?" I was fussing with the fastenings of my breastband. You needed that when you fought on an almost-daily basis, and had arms practice daily.

"Gods, no." She shook her head vigorously. "No, just…I cannot explain it, Rig. It was like…a…"

"A hunch?" I said gently, and I saw the relief in her eyes. To acknowledge that she had some abilities of the arcane nature beyond what manifested in her rogue skills would have meant something unknown entering her life again… and she usually run from what she didn't understand. I half expected her to leave us after the first week on the road to Neverwinter.

"Yeah, that." She nodded, tying the lacing on her shirt. "Want breakfast?"

"Not just yet." Yes, she was ducking again. Well, at least she didn't run. "I have to do my prayers and my arms practice first. Why don't you go ahead and get started… and could you see if Elanee has something for headache, please?"

"Now that's an idea." she muttered. "I'll do that." She stood up and looked at me sheepishly. "Hope your Tyr didn't mind you having… fun with us last night?"

I grinned. She was concerned for me, again. That was sweet.

"I think he's not against having fun in moderation, no." I twisted my hair into a ponytail and secured it with a ribbon, then flipped it over my head and started braiding it. "There, see? I am doing something different with my hair. And, Neesh…just so that we are clear, Casavir and I are…well, he, I am sure he feels like he needs to protect and serve me, you know, it's one of those…"_ Do I really need to talk about this right now?_ I asked myself, and I had to realize that yes, indeed. Especially after last evening. But why did I sound like a stammering, defensive little girl? Just yesterday I was cutting through a man's chest with one thrust of my sword so that it came out clean on the other side with half of his lungs sticking to the blade…

"I am sure, Rig." Neeshka looked at me, amused. "Like Queen Wywar and Sir Eloth in the old romances, right?"

I blushed. Those were Amie's favorites, the legends of King Ertos and his knights, and she read from them aloud all the time, until both Bevil and I knew some of the passages by heart. I blushed, because although that particular cycle of the romances started out as the story of a knight's undying, pure and chaste devotion to his liege lord's queen, it quickly turned into a rather stormy love affair. One version of the legend contained a vividly described and _very_passionate love scene between the queen and the knight that Amie in particular liked to relish reading just so that she could make Bevil go beetroot red and me exclaiming loudly with lots of 'ewww'.

"It's nothing like that, Neesh, for pity's sake!" I stomped before I could stop myself. Yes, like a little girl. Standing in the middle of the bathroom, barefoot, and arguing about feelings with a tiefling, that I had absolutely no way of proving or disproving, given who I and the other person in question was.

Goodness gracious—was my life messed up or what?

"Look, Neeshka…" I continued in a less hysterical voice. "I really cannot go into details about this; it's one of those… I guess you can call it 'mysterious paladin things'. But Casavir is kind of like my mentor, or mentor and protector, in the Order, so yes, we are close. But it's not…"

"Relax, dear." She patted my shoulder. "This is not the inquisition here, just Auntie Neeshka's gentle advice for the romantically clueless. If you want to take it slow, you take it slow. It's your business. But the way I see it, you're both in denial. And that's something you need to think about because sooner or later, the tension will get high." She shrugged. "Ask Elanee, if you feel uncomfortable talking to me. She's a druid, she probably knows more about how this thing works even from a pure mechanical point of view than I ever will. And stop blushing, for Sune's sake! You are a friggin' paladin, smiting foul things and all that, not a sixteen-year-old virgin noblewoman on her first day on a farm in the spring!"

I tried. I really did. But the more I tried, the more of that dream came back to me, and at the end, I could barely finish my prayers. I grabbed my sword as if it were an anchor keeping me afloat in stormy waters, and fled to the back yard, abandoning my incense-filled room and its small altar. There, barely wasting time to go through the warm-up exercises, I attacked the pell like it had anything to do with those sinful images running through my mind. I hit it with just about everything I had, and then some more, running through all the postures, guards and attack sequences from The Path of Silver Fire, until I had sweat running down my spine and my hair was fully wet again, my braid hanging limp on my back. I stood there, sword at the finish position lowered in front of me, breathing hard, every exhalation registering with a little vapor cloud in the cold air in front of my face, and realized that I was shivering. I looked down on myself, and it hit me that not only I did not put my armor on, but despite the chilly Uktar air, I only wore my sleeveless jerkin, not even a shirt underneath, leaving my sweat-coated arms, neck and shoulders exposed to the wind that tugged at my braid with great determination. My next glance told me something else, too.

The pell was destroyed. I used my real blade, not my practice sword; it cut the thin, wood- and-cloth dummy like butter. There were chunks or wood and wads of cotton batting everywhere, and it was obvious that I need to get a new one, and pretty soon.

"Oh, great." I muttered, trying in vain to keep the dummy's head from falling with a great thud to the ground as soon as I touched it.

I talked to myself an awful lot these days… it was probably the tension, part of which leaked out of my body during the assault on the dummy. But it was not enough, I realized. It couldn't be enough.

"Sand!" I yelled as I strode into the common room, looking wildly around. "Sand! Where are you?"

"Is it possible at all, dear girl, that you stop bellowing so?" The moon elf was sitting close to the fireplace, one delicate hand massaging his temple, the other curled around a steaming mug of what looked like one of Elanee's concoctions. "I am here, and eager to hear you out." He winced. "Just please, not that loud, not this morning."

"I need to go out." I said a bit quieter, and I saw the incredulous look in his eyes like a spark of a dampened fire. "To the Temple." I added, as an explanation.

"Out of the question." He pursed his lips and put his mug down, leaning forward. His voice was flat. "I am amazed you even bring this up. You made a promise."

"Sand, I need to go out." I heard the desperation in my voice I didn't realize I felt. "Please. I have to…have to talk to Prior Hlam."

"Absolutely not, unless you take every single member of your merry little band with you." He glared at me, dampened fire rekindled.

"I cannot!" I found myself raising my voice again; for some reason it irritated me beyond belief that I was standing there if front of him and asking permission. It was too much like Daeghun's house again. "This is private, and…"

"If it's private, then stop yelling!" Now he was standing, too, all five feet of him, looking up at me like a beagle at an Icewind Dale wolfhound. "I am amazed, amazed that after yesterday you just stroll in here and ask me this." He was almost shaking, but fought to keep his voice under control, explaining things like to a child. "You can be assured that after your performance yesterday the remainder of Luskan's agents is dispatched in a last and desperate move to render you silent…we simply cannot risk…"

"Sand!" Of course, I kept yelling: he reminded me too much of Daeghun at that moment. In the last couple of years he and I butted heads quite a number of times, in particular over my training and devotion to Tyr. The way Sand stood, the way he tried to limit me dredged up too many memories, and something in me just snapped. Our nose almost touched at this point, as I was kind of bending over him, and he was tilting his neck upwards to meet my eyes. The absurdity of the scene would, at any other time, have been dissolved easily enough, the tension broken, my sanity return… but I was half-mad by then from the returning headache, exhaustion of my workout, thirst combined with the sight nausea of hangover, and the inability of getting _those_dreams out of my head, those unfamiliar and sickening thoughts that came unbidden and unsought… the incomprehension of what made those dreams and thoughts appear all of a sudden out of nowhere…

I slammed my sword, with belt and all, in front of him on the table. I was dimly aware of my fingers grabbing the robe at his neck.

"I gotta go! I _need_ a fucking confession!"

"Then fucking let me go so I can go out and get you your fucking confessor!" he yelled back on the top of his lungs.

That brought me right back from the verge of losing it completely—which was probably exactly what he intended to do with the uncharacteristic profanity.

"Sorry." I mumbled, letting go of him and retreating a step.

"Next time…"he took a deep breath and smoothed down his collar, "…you will think before going berserker on me, I trust?" He regarded me with one of his icy glares. "You smell of hard physical work, desperation, incense, lavender soap and ever so faintly Cormyran red wine. In that order." He sniffed. "You also…hmmm." He didn't finish that sentence, but awarded me a much less stern gaze. Almost gentle, in fact. "I didn't think that…"

"You getting cryptic on me again, Sand." I sighed, in my normal voice. "If that's my punishment for losing my temper with you, I accept. I seem to have an inexcusably short fuse these days."

"Not inexcusable, dear girl." He reached up and patted my shoulder absentmindedly. "And I suppose I should have noticed earlier." Yes, he was cryptic, definitely. Because the other option was that he could read me like an open book, and that was a lot scarier.

"So… you said you would go and get Hlam for me?" I asked, sheepishly. He nodded. "Why?"

"Because you need him?" He raised an eyebrow. "In case you haven't noticed, you are acting highly irrationally, and, as your attorney, it is my responsibility to ensure you'll be in perfect condition by tomorrow's great event. If you need the good prior to ensure your spiritual well-being, than, by all means, it shall be done." He looked me up and down. "But perhaps, you might want to put something else on. Your… present attire is charming, no doubt, and I could name some who definitely would admire your… physique right now, but… "

"Sand!!" All of a sudden I became horribly self-conscious. But he was right, a sleeveless leather jerkin and my old black pants I normally wore only under armor as they were tight and form-fitting, riding boots and my sweat was not the proper attire in which to make confessions, especially not if your confessor did you a courtesy and made a house call. "Really!"

"Indeed." He chuckled, the tension of the past minutes evaporating, like the slowly drying sweat on my back and arms. "After you are done with your confessions, my dear, we need to talk." He shook his head, seeing my expression. "Oh, don't fret so. I am reasonably sure that the charming rogue and druid duo organized a great evening for you, given how at least one of them ended up…"

"What?" I exclaimed. He got me with that sentence as I was thinking about the best way to tell Duncan he needed to get a new dummy, and as I turned around to look for him, I understood.

"Uh. Good morning." I opted for my most formal tones and bow, as I noticed the new face at Elanee's table. "Sir Darmon?"

"Squire Pendwyr." The dark-haired knight bowed as he sat; his eyes were laughing in his angular face. He pretended he didn't hear anything from my little exchange with the wizard. "I was dispatched by Lord Nasher to… insure your proper security until the trial." He had the good grace to blush a bit, considering Elanee was sitting next to him, her usual serene smile now tinted by a little smugness.

"Proper security." I nodded. "I understand, of course." I looked at Elanee. "Any chance getting one of your concoctions this morning?"

"I…oh, I don't have much left." Elanee confessed a bit embarrassed, waving her hand around in the common room. "It seems everyone requested some and…"

"Everyone." I followed her pointing hand with my gaze. Yep… Neeshka and Khelgar were at their usual place, their feet up on the table, noses in two large mugs; Khelgar just grunted, while the tiefling waved her tail at me apologetically.

"Sorry, Rig." She had the good graces of sounding a tad sheepish. "Got here a bit late. Coffee, maybe?"

"If you want that, you need to get it yourself." Elanee interjected. "We didn't see Duncan or Shandra yet."

"Goodness. And I thought I slept in. Must have been quite a night." I managed to get that out with a straight face, and I heard Neeshka snicker into her drink. I threw her a stern glance, and discovered that Grobnar, holding his head over another mug of the druidess' foul tisane, was also sitting nearby. "Me, let loose in Uncle Dunk's kitchen. Quite an honor. Or a comedy, I haven't decided yet." I turned to the knight of the Nine. "Can I go all by myself, or do you need to come with me and check if there are any Luskans in the larder?"

"My dear, no need to be mean to the good knight." Sand was talking over his shoulder by the door; he was on his way out, good to his word. "I think your uncle keeps some of my hangover cure in the kitchen on the third shelf of the cupboard by the sink." He pointed with his elegantly carved wizard's staff towards the back.

"I think I know which one you are talking about, thank you, Sand." I shuddered a little: if that tasted like licorice as well, my day definitely did not start out good. "I will grab it and then head back upstairs to obediently change into something less…" I stopped, looking for the right word.

"Adventuress-y?" supplied Darmon, a bit enthusiastically. Elanee, to my utter amazement, smacked him, gently, upside down the head. "Ow." he protested, half-heartedly. "What did I say now?"

"Later." my druidess said with storm clouds in her eyes, but her mouth was drawn into a smile. "Later, I'll tell you. Rig, want me to make you that coffee?"

"But you don't like it." I protested. "Not to make too fine a point, El, but if you don't like something, would you really be able to…"

Neeshka giggled.

"El, just leave it be. Otherwise we are in for a long lecture on the nature of love, or something, and I don't think you really need that right now."

"What? Oh." Once realization hit, I fled to the kitchen. Hastily rummaging in the cupboard Sand indicated, I found a couple of the pale pink cures I learned to recognize (Uncle Duncan used them often enough), gulped one down, and ran back upstairs.

"Hope y'all get better!" I tossed back behind my back; I heard Neeshka's chuckle and Khelgar's harrumphing in answer, and the pressure in my stomach and head eased up a little. _Oh good, the potion started to work_, I thought, shook my head and turned down to the corridor leading to my room…

Just to collide with Casavir.

"Ow!" Now it was my turn to exclaim much in the way Sir Darmon did except mine had all of my heart in it. He was _solid_. I put a hand out to keep my balance, and grabbed his shoulder, while I felt his arm going around my waist reflexively, steadying me. "Sorry!"

I pulled back and looked at him; and, just like that, that sweet, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach was back…_because I've seen him just like that in the dreams I tried to forget all morning… with nothing but a moss-green towel around his waist, droplets of water glistening on his smooth skin, black hair wet and tousled…_

He must have just come out of the men's bathroom; last night's drinking traced some black circles under his eyes, but it wasn't responsible for what moved in their depths as he took in my unusual attire.

"My…lady…" he whispered, the rest caught in his throat. My heartbeat sped up, and that strange fluttering in my stomach intensified.

I was helpless, utterly helpless under the heat of his azure gaze, like a small animal getting mesmerized by a serpent. I felt my silver and crimson fire uncoiling, rising like an answer to the feel of his fingers brushing up along my spine. My hand, the one that wasn't resting on his shoulder, rose as of its own volition to smooth a stray strand of wet hair out of his forehead, then moved again...

_just like in my dream…_

…to trace a line down through his cheek…

_what was I doing…_

The main artery on his neck was pulsing so fast I could barely see the pauses between beats. His hand convulsed on my back, pressing me closer to him…

In a flash, a brilliant, blinding, dizzying vista opened up to me, like an answer to the uncoiling of my power: silver and azure lightning storm, held behind a slender steel barrier that was barely withstanding the raging outburst of…

_Such a storm…_

"Casavir…" I whispered. "Casavir…please…"

"Lady Arrighan, you happened to leave this downsta… Oh, sorry!"

_Grobnar! Is there a Smite Gnome spell somewhere?_


	27. Voices Trapped In Yearning

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections. It really helps me to get better, so please feel free to leave a review. Thanks for all of those who have already done so—you guys are great!**

**There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things. Hence the M rating so far.**

**This chapter's soundtrack included the following: **_**Roslyn and Adama **_**from Bear McCreary's **_**Battlestar Galactica II's**_** soundtrack****(yes, this is for Cas and Rig**_**In un' altra vita **_**from Ludovico Einaudi's **_**I giorni**_**, and **_**Possession**_** from Sarah McLachlan's **_**Fumbling Towards Ecstasy**_**. Another oddball assortment, I know…**

**And, as always, I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… Arrighan is entirely my fault, though.**

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Voices Trapped In Yearning**

I did not commit gnomicide that day. I would have been proud of myself had I not been preoccupied by the all-enveloping feeling of shame, rising like ashes from the throat of a volcano. I could feel the dead, gray taste of soot in my mouth as I grabbed for my sword held out by Grobnar like a peace offering and fled to my room, slamming the door closed with a sound that reverberated across the entire inn. I jammed the bolt in place, tossed the sword in a corner, yanked off my clothes and put on a drab linen shirt and my warmest brown wool pants. Both were from back West Harbor when I preferred oversized garments to hide the fact that I was female. Then, still operating without much thinking, lighted more incense on the little altar in the corner, opened the window, stuck my head out to the cold air and took deep even breaths, running the daily prayers of the god in the forefront of my brain, while unbraiding my wet hair with only barely shaking fingers.

_The way I see it, you're both in denial. And that's something you need to think about, because sooner or later, the tension will get high. _A small laugh that was really more of a cry escaped my throat as I thought about Neeshka's words.

_Oh, she was right about the tension indeed! _I grabbed the window frame with such a force that it groaned under the pressure of my fingers. I stood there, letting the Uktar wind render my slowly drying hair into a tangled mess of three-colored gold, and waited for the inevitable knock on my door.

Because, as my skin and mind cooled, I knew that it would come, and I steeled myself, knowing what I will hear as soon as I answer it. There was a strange feeling of surety in my mind, as if I knew the steps of a complicated dance ahead, or the flow of a chess game before the figures moved.

If this was what possessing His Truth meant, it was, indeed, a heavy thing to bear.

I never stopped praying.

When it finally happened, I was ready for it: three even, measured raps exactly a heartbeat apart. I exhaled and extended my senses.

_Even-Handed, give me strength now!_

Yes. It was him. Blue-and-silver storm dampened down almost to embers, steel barriers in place, controlled and emotionless. I felt my own powers answering that, almost as if it was a challenge, blazing up with silver and crimson and rustle of white feathers… and, after a brief, dizzying second of disorientation, all of a sudden everything was calm and clear. The moment was here. My path was shown, and it was up to me what I did with it.

He stood ramrod straight, at attention, his oxblood leather bag at his feet, wearing his scruffiest leathers and that horrible old cloak, statuesque features stiff in a mask of indifference.

"This knight came to offer his sincerest apologies, my lady." he said, looking somewhere above my head an inch. Across the hall, behind his back, I saw the open door of his room with packed saddlebags ready in the doorway. "At the same time, he is also to tender his resignation from your service. This knight had inexcusably let his drinks got the better of him and…"

"Your apology is accepted. Your resignation, however, is _not_." I used my coldest tones, the ones I normally reserved for Bishop. His head went back as if I slapped him and his eyes finally found mine.

_Good. Snap out of it!_

"But I _have _to go." he said, and something akin to pleading entered his voice. "Don't you see? I am unworthy of your service."

The rising of great white wings rustled in my ears again, and I felt my eyes change and shift into another kind of Sight. I let my celestial self see into his heart, or part of it, to perceive the fault line that ran across his soul like a bleeding, re-opened wound. There was a feeling of almost raw panic, deep hurt, and loss, and fear of the past repeating itself. _Another trial was coming up, and he was on the verge of losing so much again_…

"That is for the god to decide, Casavir." I stood straight and delivered the next sentence in a tone that hopefully bore no argument. "And for his Chosen."

I watched some sanity return to his eyes and that swirl of yellow-brown, composed of shame and crushed hopes starting to dissolve from his aura.

"Our Lord has not withdrawn his Grace from you, just like He never abandoned you before." My voice came cold and clear, my gaze distant like starlight on a moonless winter night. "I am not letting you run away from your life yet again." That ought to hurt; but it was the truth--and truth I was determined to give today. "Especially when what happened can hardly be blamed singularly on you."

"My lady?" Oh, I could just see how he could have been manipulated by his father quite easily. He was not that difficult to read for those who were… close to him. Those he let close.

I felt my hands ball into a fist.

_By all that is holy, I will not let that happen to him again!_

"You were not the only one who… had more than one glass last night." I said quietly, and saw his eyes widen in shock.

"You say that to ease my shame, my lady." he said stubbornly, eyes staring over my shoulder again. "This humble knight appreciates the gesture, but…"

"Casavir." I extended a hand and flicked his right shoulder. "Stop that." His gaze returned to my face, questioningly. "Not looking at me and referring to yourself in the third person." I paused. "And to accuse me of lying."

"I would never…!" he started indignantly, then stopped. "You are right…" he said slowly, with a deep sigh. "My lady: what am I to do then?"

"First of all, no more talk about leaving." I looked at him sternly. "Remember what you told me: that you _are _with me. That you are sworn to my service, till death. _Act _like it."

I had to use the terms he was familiar with, to stay within the boundaries he himself set, so his world does not crumble and dissolve into chaos again. That would kill him; and, I had to realize as it hit me with the force of Truth--_it would probably kill me, too_.

"Until _I _release you from my service, you are my Champion." I extended a hand again, and touched his shoulder, letting my power rise just enough. On a barely conscious level, I was vaguely aware of how much better control I had over it lately. I felt the silver sparkles under my fingers, and watched, with my face schooled impassive, as he went on one knee, head bowed.

"_Sistinae-va rammonac'h reba Tiw_. Aasimar and Chosen of Tyr." he murmured, using the sacred language. "Forgive me. I shall do as my lady commands."

"Good." I nodded, my fingers tightening on his shoulder for a second. "Because I am not losing you over a hangover-ridden mutual weak moment." I let that sink in for a second, leaving my hand on his shoulder, letting the warmth radiating from him slowly leech the ice from my fingers, as I continued. "For which, I am sure, Father Prior will have the appropriate punishment meted out for both of us."

His head came up at that.

"Sand went to ask him to come here." I said gently. "I…wanted to take confession before tomorrow, and since I cannot go out today…" I held his gaze. "When he is done with me, I will send him to you. Would that be acceptable?"

He nodded; I watched his features finally ease into something more resembling his true face. I let out a small sigh; this was more difficult than anything I encountered before, including Shadow Priests.

"And… once my trial is over…" I continued, "Maybe… we should talk?" I leaned against the doorframe and watched him to stand up slowly.

"As my lady wishes." There was still that courtly formality in his voice, the one I knew was one of his shields. There was nothing I wished more in that minute than stepping forward and wrap my arms around him, but I had to resist. I rested my cheek against the doorframe's rough oak instead.

"I should… return this to my room, then, with your leave." he said, lifting his leather bag, a bit awkward. "I shall await Father Prior there."

"Oh no, you won't." I shook my head at that. "You first will go downstairs and get a good breakfast… or, rather lunch, as it were, like anyone else." There was slight incomprehension in his eyes. "No hiding and no running, remember?" I pushed myself off the doorframe. "For that matter, I myself need to have words with Duncan about replacing the training dummy in the courtyard."

"A new dummy." he repeated, some confusion in his eyes. "What happened?"

"I am afraid I destroyed it earlier today." I answered. "I am… having control problems, lately."

He looked at me long and hard after that, but I did not mind. I was well aware of what I just said.

"It seems we both have." he said, voice carefully neutral, and I knew this was the closest I will hear him acknowledging what clearly was happening between us. For a while, at least.

"Elanee was telling me something once." The words came instinctively, the next step of the _grande pavane _playing in my mind. I saw Amie's laughing face for a second, pinching her skirt between her fingers, back straight, head up, like a court lady, showing me the steps at that last Harvest Fair. "She said that the forces of good like to give… but very rarely learn to receive. Methinks that is something to be… contemplated upon."

I saw a faint shadow of the passion that moved behind his eyes earlier on the corridor surface for the barest of seconds, as Casavir understood the meaning of my words, and I shivered, remembering the silver-laced storm that raged behind the steel bars.

He bowed over my hand, his heels clicking: the dance was over.

"I shall see you soon, then." His voice slid over my skin like silk, like the brush of his lips on the back of my hand. "My lady."

"My lord." I murmured, resting my fingers on his hair for a second, before he straightened and turned, walking back to his room. We closed our door at the same time, and I caught another glance from him as we did so—one that made my entire body feel like it burst into flame.

I prayed, until there was another knock on the door. I could sense that aura, too, a very powerful silver, edged with gold.

Prior Hlam. I rose from my knees at the altar and answered.

"You called for me, child?" His voice was so melodious and calming; I knew he was using his abilities to soothe, but I needed it right now, very much, so I welcomed the power in it.

"I did, Father Prior; thank you for coming. I know this is not… usual." I stood back. "Would you come in?"

"Thank you." He stepped through and looked around. "I must admit I don't do… house calls very often." He shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Out of armor, without the ceremonial pauldrons and breastplate, his similarity to a lean, old, greyhound was even more pronounced. "As most of the Order lives in the Temple, we have our resident priests do deal with spiritual matters." He lifted a hand. "However, you are… definitely an exception, child, so don't feel like you did something out of bounds."

His eyes narrowed as he looked at me, and I knew he did not see me just in this world now.

"You have… something different about you since we last met." He closed his eyes, murmured something, then his eyelids snapped open and he took a step backwards. "I can feel your power grew… much stronger." he stated. "_Much_ stronger." He looked around and noticed my unmade bed, the bottles on the floor, my sword carelessly tossed to the side. "What happened?"

"You better sit down, Father Prior." I said, sighing. "This is going to be long."

"Your friend Sand mentioned that you were going through deep… emotional turmoil, but that would not cause such a sudden…" He made himself comfortable on my single chair. "I don't feel anything dark here, child, just… emotions, and power. A lot of it. All yours." He steepled his fingers. "Let me ask you: do you wish to make this a formal confession, or are we just talking like one paladin to the other?"

I understood his offer, even though it filled me with dread. I could not believe he would treat me as equal.

"I am in your hands, Father." I bowed my head. "Do whatever feels best." I looked up at him. "It's not that my soul is in danger… I am just… confused."

"Aren't we all…?" he murmured fondly. "I tell you what. We will say a prayer together, seeing that you already have done that before I got here, and then… just talk a little bit. I will ask some questions, perhaps ask you to let me to… hmmm, what's the best way to put this… to look at you a bit better with the eyes the god gave me… and we'll see if this needs to move into a more formal setting. Would that do?"

"That would do very well, Father." I nodded; more grateful and relieved than I could express. Although I was resolved to do this, things had… changed since I asked Sand to bring him here.

It proved to be less difficult than I feared. Also a lot longer. Prior Hlam was nothing if not meticulous in this matter as well as in a lot others, I suspected, so I had to answer a lot of questions, some of which left me rather embarrassed. But I have asked for it (as the Prior had to remind me a couple of times), and it was obvious that he had to do this a lot of times.

"Tell me what to do, Father." I said as I finished. "I have… never experienced this before. I would like to believe I am not leading Casavir astray, but….he's my brother in Tyr, and…" I stammered to a halt, shook my head and started again. "First I thought he was dear to me as a companion, someone who was a stalwart warrior in battle and someone I could trust. I felt he was so much… better than I, an unwashed hick from West Harbor, barely worthy of wearing the cloak of Our Lord, let alone lead people. He taught me so much. He knew me for what I was, before anyone else, even myself, came to terms with me being Chosen. He trusted me with his greatest secrets, with the story of his shame and humiliation that he kept to himself all these years, he stood by me when I was at my weakest… and never, ever asked anything in return. And then, yesterday, when finally he came to me for help, it all turned into a…"

I shook my head, remembering the crypt, the ghasts, the Shadow Priest, the kids… my anger rising in the coach…

"I had too much pressure, and I just couldn't take it any more. " I slid off the edge of my bed where I was perching and kneeled, feeling tears welling up behind my eyelids.

"Father, I am Heavens-touched, but mortal. I transgressed. I drank and I spied on friends while invisible, I had unclean thoughts about the only man ever treating me like a lady, and wished they were not just dreams. Now, when I think we both realized we feel something more for each other than what the Order allows, or what the Chosen and her Champion should, I don't know what to do. I know what I _have_ to do, but I long for more. Is that a sin?"

"You growing up the way you did, child, has a lot to do with your… problems." he said after a long silence, leaning back in his chair. "Carnal urges we all have to deal with from time to time, but, as you know, the members of our Order are not bound by celibate vows, although one may take such vows if desired, or if the god orders us. We have… certain written and unwritten rules governing conduct between the brothers and sisters, since we are often forced to share quarters, even beds when on missions." Some of this was entirely new to me and it probably showed on my face, because he flashed a smile full of understanding.

"You wanted to say, child?"

"Erm…" I cleared my throat, like so many times already since we started. "So you are saying, there is no rule that would say that…"

"Ah." He lifted a finger. "No, there is nothing against a member of the order eventually finding someone who he or she would like to spend the rest of their lives with. But there are… rules for _that_." He tilted his head. "And I doubt your education included those."  
"You are correct, Father." I bowed my head. "This _Imperfecta _asks for your forgiveness…" I whispered.

I felt his hand on my head .

"There's nothing to forgive, daughter." he said after a brief silence. "You lived a life this far that did not allow for much thinking about such things as love. It is…difficult to recognize, and it's difficult to admit, or even allow ourselves to feel such emotions, especially amidst such turmoil as you had to face since you left your home. And you well know that there is a long road ahead, one that is full of darkness, and increasingly so, as your powers grow. You will bring light into darkness, hope where all else failed, justice where the light of Our Lord had been extinguished. Such is your destiny; such is the will of Tyr. There will be many who'll try to stop you, just like those who brought this trial against you, a mockery and affront in Our Lord's eyes." There were echoes of thundering anger in his voice. "But they will receive their judgment tomorrow, of that I am certain. Such sins always do." He sighed, and the pressure of his hand on my head lightened. "But that is not why you called me here, and for that I am… proud of you. You never doubted that truth will triumph tomorrow."

"I am Tyr's, father." I said simply. "He knows my heart, and knows all those who raised those charges. I am surrounded by friends who care about me and who aided me until we arrived to these crossroads. I will not be alone. Whatever happens, His will shall be done."

"Indeed." His voice eased back to gentleness. "The way of a Chosen rarely allows for love, my child. However, there is always a way to find shelter when a storm is threatening. So—is it a sin? No. The question you should ask of yourself is rather: Is this the right time for it?"

He coughed delicately.

"For that matter, you told me about your friend Neeshka's advice…'Taking it slow' was, I believe, the phrase?" I nodded, my ears burning. "And that, indeed, is what you will do. You are Our Lord's Chosen, Arrighan, and Casavir Korranos is your Champion. Time will tell if what you feel towards him is what you think it is. So take your absolution: Our Lord does not forbid you anything, as long as your heart is pure."

I felt his finger draw the sign of the sword on my forehead.

"And now for your penance. You committed the sin of overindulgence last night, for which you will remain on your knees for another hour in front of Our Lord's altar here in prayers. After that…" and his formal tones eased back to the gentleness of or conversation before, "…I'd suggest some food would be in order. Tomorrow, you'll need all your strength. But after your trial you shall come to me and I will tell you what else is required from you as penance." He stood up, and looked at me. "Would that do, or should we be more formal?"

I confess I hugged him, then, smiling and crying at the same time. He stiffened up a bit, but then returned the hug, awkward, as if he wasn't sure how to, patting my back and murmuring 'there, there' while doing so.

Finally I let go, still sniffing, casting about for a handkerchief, until I found one under my pillow.

"And one more thing…"he said, as I turned back to him. "This I must demand, and most insistently. You need to limit your… foul language, daughter. Such is unbecoming of a squire, a servant of Our Lord, and, most of all, a Chosen of his."

"I was afraid you'd say that." I sighed, obediently. "But you are right." I realized I retained that impulse to use swearwords often much more as a clinging to my roots, my 'Harborman-ness', or even to being a Watchman, then for any actual _need_ for cussing. "I suppose I will have to learn a lot of courtly manners, then."

"Oh, no doubt." He patted my hand. "Likewise, I have no doubt that young Korranos would just be the person to educate you in that regard. With proper supervision, of course." He lifted a finger. "Hush, child… I better go and see if he's brooded himself into a knot by now. I know you forbid him in Our Lord's name, to go and run away again, but I feel that prohibition left enough room for dark thoughts and possible self-disciplining in a most unhealthy way."

"I am not sure I understand that, Father." I said hesitantly.

"Better that way, child. Better that way." He absent-mindedly patted my head this time, and headed for the door. "Self-mortification in moderation _can _be desirable in Our Lord's eyes as it purifies the mind, but that boy, I have the feeling, can carry it to the extremes. _He Who Loses Himself In Battle_, that was the name those orc tribes called him out at Old Owl Well, right?" I nodded and he winced. "Like I said, best if you remain ignorant of such matters for now." He looked at me, slightly amused by my confusion. "Innocence is a precious and fragile thing, child, too easy to shatter… and you, it seems, still preserved some of it, despite all that you have been through. I will pray that you shall remain so through all the dark paths you may walk."

As a parting gift, he drew the sign of the sword in the air again, and I saw faint lines of silver as his blessing was filled with power.

"I shall be in the Temple praying for you tomorrow, child, while your trial lasts."

It took me a while until I could open that door again and walk down to the common room, even after the prescribed hour spent in prayers. When I finally did, though, I felt that I could take on all the mages of Luskan's Hosttower if needs be, and my heart was so much lighter. I could even smile.

"Did you just _snore_ into my coffee?" I asked my uncle as I sat down at an empty table at the corner and he put a bowl of stew and a steaming mug in front of me. "And where's everybody?" I glanced around: the little tableau of my companions in repose with hangover cures was gone, replaced by a couple of lunchtime customers and Shandra cleaning mugs by the bar, waving a feeble hello to me.

"Well, I think Elanee and Neeshka went to get your gown for tomorrow…" he said, scratching his head and yawning, "and Khelgar went with them. They took the gnome, too, apparently, after he started babbling something about…"

"Never mind that." I said quickly. "And Sir Darmon…?"

"He's around." Duncan shrugged. "He's supposed to, after all, although he was sure loathe to let your Elanee go… But he said he'd take a look at the dummy you…" He paused. "I understand you had a… breakthrough in your training today?

"Huh?" I looked up from the coffee mug, blinking. "A what?"

"Well, Sir Darmon went out there earlier, came back and said something like 'I see our squire mastered some destructive techniques this morning'. I believe he used the words, 'quite impressive' as well. He said he might be able to either fix it or to come up with something that would do until someone can get a better one." He sniffed. "Truth to tell, I wondered how long that thing will last anyway… it was my old one from when I got this inn and thought I can keep up with my training while running it."

"Oh." It seemed things were progressing smoothly without me fretting over them too much. "That's good, then." I looked up at him sheepishly. "Yes, I was…a bit overzealous this morning."

"I told him it was probably the trial that got you in that mood." My uncle, bless his heart, had fairly straightforward thinking. He patted my hand awkwardly. "Well, I would stay and chat, but that wouldn't keep thee business running."

"Understood, Uncle." I grinned at him. "And Shandra probably needs help with all those bottles, anyway."

"Ah. Um. Yes." He smoothed down his hair and shuffled his feet. "I'll be going, then. Just wave if you need more coffee."

I embarrassed him, Duncan Farlong, the seasoned adventurer and innkeep… what did the world come to?

Even food tasted much better now—although when I woke up this morning, I could not even imagine keeping anything down but water. I could only suppose, looking at it from a distance that some decisions made and getting things off one's chest decidedly improved my outlook in life.

I finished the stew and bread nice and slow, savoring every bite, cleaned my fingers on the napkin Duncan thoughtfully provided, emptied my coffee mug and took my dishes back to the kitchen. Qara was still nowhere in sight, but I bumped into Dory and Vana who refused to let me to even rinse my plate and tried to shoo me out right away, as if I were a kid who'd mess up Mommy's kitchen if let be. I could only assume they either were conspiring about the quilt I was not supposed to know about, or else they did not want me to notice Marcus, who was sweeping the floor in the larder whistling something terribly out of tune but with much enthusiasm. I managed to snatch an apple from the table, though, before getting out of there, dodging an eight-year old and an eleven-year old trying to look threatening.

As I ducked through the door leading to the courtyard, I saw Sir Darmon scratching his head over the dummy, with Wolf by his side.

"Well, Squire…" he turned, a thoughtful look on his face. "I was just telling young Wolf here that normally it would be your knight's duty to supply you with another training dummy." His eyes sparkled up with mischief. " But as good Sir Grayson is not here, and you apparently are in need of this on a pretty regular basis, I will have to get a couple of your Irregulars to run and get one from this reputable merchant of knightly paraphernalia you will, no doubt, find rather useful once free of this trial business." He gave a mock push to Wolf. "So, off you go, rascal. Let me talk to the nice lady here."

Wolf run, casting a glance back that verged on admiration. It seemed this dark-haired Knight of the Nine was quick to win hearts at the Sunken Flagon. I smirked, trying to hide it.

"Sorry… that sounded a bit condescending, isn't it?" He grinned at me, and I remembered our first encounter outside the dilapidated warehouse where he addressed me in a haughty manner that softened considerably once I informed him that the smugglers' ring he was sent to dispatch had already been taken care of, on behalf of the City Watch.

"It sure did, Sir." I said, executing a courtly bow to the best of my ability.

"Always glad to serve the fair ladies of our city." He winked.

I winked back.

"Of that I am sure." I noticed a couple of practice swords in a canvas bag, propped up by the hay bales in the corner and lifted an eyebrow. "You were planning on some practice this afternoon, I take it?"

"Well, I was _planning _to, but my sparring partner decided on taking up errand-running." He sighed, putting a hand on his heart. "And thus, my heart is broken."

"In that, I cannot be of help." I got to the hay bales and started opening the sack. I was only half-joking; I wanted to make sure he wasn't just playing with someone I cared for a lot. "And besides, if _her _heart gets broken…"

"I would not harm her, Arrighan." Darmon got serious, too. "We are both adults, and, I suspect, she's much older than I am. So…"

"…so I should stop acting like a Calimshanian brother when her sister's honor is at stake." I tossed a practice blade at him. "I understand, Sir. I am somewhat on the edge today, so I need to ask for your forgiveness." I bowed. "And doubly so if I leave some marks on you. My control today is…"

"…Yes, I noticed." He glanced at the ruined dummy and shifted his stance experimentally. "I never had a chance to test myself against one of Tyr's blades." There was a wistful tone in his voice, but his eyes were alert.

"And me against one of the Nine." I kept my eyes on the way he moved; I suspected he was fast, especially out of armor.

"In that case…" he said with a little bow, "shall we…?"

It was an interesting experience. I went into the bout with some expectations but had to revise them rather quickly. His style was much more defensive than mine, but that was fitting--he was a bodyguard, after all. However, from all those defensive postures he was able to launch some blindingly fast counterattacks, too, and since he was used to armor lighter than mine, he indeed was quick on his feet. As we circled each other a couple of times, I could tell he also encountered things he did not expect. I grinned inwardly--the Path of the Silver Fire was not something commonly seen these days, and by now it molded itself to my bones and sinews so closely that my original fighting style, that of the Even Path, was inexplicably transformed.

"Oh, wait, wait, wait, let us bring out some chairs!" I heard, all of a sudden, Neeshka's excited squeal. "El, come quick, yon knight and Rig are killing each other! In a _most _friendly manner, of course." she added hastily. We both lowered our blades and looked towards the door.

"One of these days, Neeshka…" Elanee was impeccably calm, as always, "…you will find yourself pinned on someone's weapon because you made a joke at exactly the wrong time. Or giving someone a heart attack."

"_What_ever." The tiefling bounced excitedly. "Seriously. Let me get some chairs and maybe some drinks. I meant water, Rig, don't worry." She clapped her hands. "Maybe go and get the others and we can all get in some practice time, hm? This will be fun!"

"A very…peculiar interpretation of 'fun'." Darmon murmured, but his eyes were laughing. "Care for another round, before I have to get into close-quarters wrestling with Master Khelgar for the amusement of the ladies, Squire?"

I never expected to spend the afternoon and evening before my trial this way, but I had to admit, it was better than brooding in my room or reviewing defense strategy once again with Sand. Neeshka returned, towing Khelgar and Grobnar carrying chairs, Shandra following with a waterskin and exchanging her barmaid outfit for trousers and a shirt ('Qara is back' she explained tersely; I took it from now on they will do different shifts). Sand made an appearance too, rubbing his eyes, blinking as he saw us, wondering over to me as I took a break and let Khelgar give some basic wrestling lessons to Shandra.

"You all right, dear girl?" he asked quietly. "Prior Hlam just left, looking very thoughtful."

"Oh." I felt the world spin around a bit. I took a swig from the waterskin; I was sweaty again. Darmon gave a good fight. "I am fine, yes." I swept my arm around the courtyard. "This is really nice."

Sand's eyebrows went up hearing me dodging his obvious opening, but he wasn't my attorney for nothing--he gave one of his elegant and almost unperceivable shrugs and went on smoothly.

"I agree. An excellent way to have your uncle to be able to get some business today without raucous dwarves, fretting elves and brooding paladins around, get you out of your mood, and make sure you are around people who can defend you should anything happen." There was a wry smile on his lips.

"Did you set this up?" I narrowed my eyes. "Wait, don't answer that. You are my attorney. Of course you did. And they are my friends, so they went along, right?"

"Precisely." Sand sat down and massaged the bridge of his nose the way I did every time I got a headache. I learned it from Daeghun, so I supposed this was some common elven trick from their heritage. "And I hope you heed the advice several people gave you lately and receive this little gift with good grace." The way he looked at me made me feel, again, like I was fourteen. Elves.

"I am working on that part. " I admitted. "Thank you, Sand." I found myself smiling at him after all.

"Well, you are very welcome, dear girl." He chuckled. "Just don't expect me to spar with you or anyone else, if you would. I am definitely a spectator today." I understood what he meant: he will have enough to do tomorrow.

He gestured towards the middle of the courtyard, where Shandra and Khelgar just ceded their place to Elanee and Darmon.

"And let me tell you, if someone even hints at something like _that_ happening when you four showed up at this inn months ago, I would have personally made sure the person spreading such tales gets into the Asylum."

"So, Sand, are you going to join the fun?" Neeshka plopped down next to us; she mostly cheered on this far, but had sneaked in a bout with me earlier, and the girl actually landed a blow or two. She had this disturbing ability of spinning out of sight and appearing out of my blind spot, freckles dancing, as her delicate foot thumped my flank with surprising force, while making a little squeaking noise that was rather endearing.

"Goodness, no." Sand lifted a hand and surveyed his nails. "I work with my brains, my dear, and there are way too many people here in this courtyard that could casually knock it out of my skull at any point."

"Ha-ha." Neeshka said with a sniff. "Very funny. I am rolling on my back laughing." She looked around and I could see her eyes widen. "Never mind… there is one who surely won't say no. Oy! Casavir!"

I twisted around as I sat, my heart giving a little lurch, chiding myself for not feeling his aura appearing at the edge of my senses. I have gotten too comfortable.

He walked with his customary stride, long and comfortable, his azure gaze sweeping through the courtyard, settling on my tiefling companion; I saw a smile tugging at the corner of his lips and I sent a quick prayer to the god. He did not look like he got smitten to the ground during his meeting with Father Prior. If fact, judging by the way his shoulders were set, he probably felt a smiliar kind of relief I did. Funny what a good, thorough confession could do to one's soul.

"Is there something you wish of me?" he said, with a slight bow towards her. Neeshka beamed.

"Now _that's_ what I am talking about. Courtesy." She wrinkled her nose at Sand. "See? Ought to take lessons, really."

"I am _ashamed_." Sand said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Everyone is way too witty for me today." I sighed, my heart feeling even lighter than before. "Can I just bash someone's head in and be done with it?"

"I am afraid I would, just like Master Sand here, prefer to retain my head, but otherwise, I am at your service, my lady." There was another small bow, this time towards me.

Our eyes met at last; mine held questions, I know… and, praised be Tyr, his had answers. For a long, long second, for what seemed to be eternity, we stood there, in the middle of the courtyard, clearly oblivious to everyone else. At least I hoped it was just a moment.

"O-o-o!" said Neeshka warningly and that made me return to reality, rather sharply. "I thought I got first dibs. I saw him first."

"Dibs?" I felt my eyebrows go up. Oh, this was going to be _fun_. "On getting righteously smacked? I don't think so."

"Help!" Neeshka tugged at Sand's arm, who was watching us like a favorite uncle would some underage children: detached, but with bemusement. "These two are teaming up on me! I can _feel_ their aura giving me ticklefits!"

I saw from the corner of my eye that the rest in the courtyard stopped and watched us as well; Khelgar snickered openly, while Elanee was whispering into Darmon's ear. She was probably assuring him that there was no need to call in anyone from the Asylum to evaluate us.

"Let me get this straight." said Sand slowly. "I am supposed to get between a tiefling and an aasimar over who gets to be beaten up by the _Katalmach_ of Old Owl Well?" He looked around. "Is it just me, or anyone else also feels that I ought to just throw up a Spell Mantle and run for cover?"

"Coward." I sniffed and stood, grabbing my practice blade from where I laid it next to my chair. "I bet he can take both of us, Neesh."

"Rig!" I have never seen Neeshka blush, but the way her freckles stood out in the crimson of her face made it clear that she, indeed could, and that apparently I just said something very inappropriate.

I heard Sand making a choking sound.

"What?" I opened my eyes as wide as I could. "I am talking about a bout of sparring, my dear. " I turned to Casavir. "Or is there any other way?"

"Don't answer her." Sand muttered. "Just don't. Please. I don't want anyone falling from grace today."

"No, we wouldn't want that, would we?" Casavir murmured under his breath, and I heard myself chortle. He looked up at me sharply, and I could see his mouth twist into a smile slowly, as if against his will.

I breathed a small sigh of relief.

"Here, take this, my lord. "Darmon saved the situation with impeccable timing: I had the feeling he already started to learn things from Elanee. He extended his practice sword towards Casavir. "No way I leave you unarmed with these ladies here… rarely you can hear an exchange of words from such beauties, even at Nasher's court. A knight shall be properly armed when facing tongues this sharp and minds so full of wit."

"And I have to thank you, Sir. "With an impeccable bow, Casavir took the blade and inclined his head towards the middle of the courtyard. "And now, if the ladies are content with matching blades instead of wits…?"

"Oh, nice, my lord!" Darmon clapped his hands appreciatively. I noticed how he called Casavir 'my lord' twice already, and how he hasn't objected. That was…interesting. There were definitely things going on behind the scene that I had no hopes for discerning for at least a while. I had other things to worry about at the moment—but I made a mental note to think about it, at least. "I can see your absence from our fair city did not diminish your courtly skills."

"I am afraid I am but a humble servant of our god, Sir Darmon, doing my utmost to serve." He was way too modest, even I could se that. The unexpected speed with which he eased back to world of courtly manners and wittiness was almost dizzying. That was a side of him I couldn't quite experience before, and one quite unusual from what I imagined Tyr's servants ought to possess. I could understand that part of his life he spoke about back in the Mask better a bit for that.

And, looking at him now, I was quite sure at least part of him enjoyed the change.

Frankly, I did not know I was cut out for this, but I clenched my teeth and was determined to keep up. It was a challenge, after all—and I have never been one to run from one.

Especially not from one with possible rewards that…well, best not to think about that for now. I took a deep breath and winked at Neeshka, who all of a sudden looked a bit fragile and lost.

"So what do you say, sweetling? The two of us as a team?"

Her face lit up with a sudden light of gratitude.

"Would you, really? Wow, Rig, you really are a friend!" She unsheathed her slender practice rapier and dagger that Khelgar made her a while back and grinned at Casavir with mock ferocity. "In that case, into the ring with you, paladin, and better look out for your ass! With all due respect, of course."

"The things I do for you, my lady. "I heard Casavir whisper, and I had to stifle a laugh as the three of us stepped into the ring of our friends.

I felt good.

I felt safe.

I felt like I was home.


	28. I Beg To Differ

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**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

_**--Hey, guess what? I stretched the suspense as far as I could without people sending me hate mail, so, here: I am moving to the trial. See? I am moving…So are the characters.—**_

_**But first, my usual disclaimers, because I am methodical:**_

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections. It really helps me to get better, so please feel free to leave a review. Thanks for all of those who have already done so—you guys are great!**

**There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things. Ah, and there was one wet paladin with a towel on. Hence the M rating so far.**

**This chapter's soundtrack included the following: _Stinging Rain_ from Capercaille's _Grace and Pride_; the return of _Kecharitomene _from Loreena McKennitt's _An Ancient Muse _(yes, another sparring scene…) and _Salterello_ from the London Pro Musica's _Florentine Carnival_ album.**

**And, as always, I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… Arrighan is entirely my fault, though.**

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: I Beg To Differ**

I don't know when everyone else went to bed, really. I got yet more last minute instructions from Sand, whispering in a corner, while some large-scale storytelling was going on elsewhere the courtyard. Khelgar insisted that everyone tell their most embarrassing fight story to keep that evening in character. And yes, his story was about the evening he served as a floormop for those Tyr monks, and which I heard about as many times as I took a new companion on. Someone brought out a couple of those torches that you could stick in the ground, and at some point there was hot soup and some blankets distributed, as the air got rather cold. The sky was clear and the stars were out, so, as judging from the noises coming from the Inn this was one of Duncan's busy nights, we all opted for staying back here, swapping stories and stargazing.

When I took my leave from Sand, I looked back at the little group, and it struck me again just how at ease they were with each other. They took to Darmon like he'd always belonged—I supposed that had a lot to do with the way Elanee sat next to him on the blanket they put on the ground, just barely touching each other. But touching they did, and pretty much all the time. I supposed that was good—I've seen the same with Duncan and Shandra earlier, and I was more than relieved to realize that my jealousy over seeing happy faces around me disappeared completely. I waved some fingers towards them, but all I got was a vague smile from Neeshka— she and everyone else was too animated and engrossed in trying to goad something out of Casavir.

"Do paladins ever get into embarrassing fight situations, I wonder?" Sand muttered as he stood up to join their group. "He probably got a dirt spot on his armor once and now he'll play up the fact that he didn't pass inspection. I would bet."

I had to smile.

"One of these days, I'll tell you about how he and I met. Believe or not, he even had a beard then." I stifled a yawn. "I think it is really time for me to call it a night, Sand. Not to make too light of it, but we will have a long day tomorrow."

He sighed.

"True. Perhaps I shall return to my shop as well. I'll see you bright and early, Squire…we will have a coach fetch us to the castle."

It was a monstrously impressive coach, too, judging by the racket it made drawing up in front of the Flagon in the morning's first light. I could hear it all the way up in my room, where Shandra just finished lacing up my gown.

"There." she said, with that little lilt in her voice that always betrayed that she was nervous, but tried to hide it valiantly. "Now, what about your hair?"

"The hair stays up." I said firmly, ignoring Neeshka's attempts to dislodge the pins that secured my bun. "You got me into this gown, let me at least keep that part of myself." I touched the god's holy symbol, all the more visible on my off-white gown. "And this."

"Oh, _fine_!" Neeshka shot an annoyed glance at me. She was full of nerves today. Her old aversion about someone being tried in the court of law was alive and well, and I was honestly surprised she was even willing to show up in a courtroom as a spectator. "At least put this one on, will you?" She fished around in one of her belt-pouches and brought out a fine gold mesh chain bracelet, inset with tiny pale lavender stones. "Please? I think it goes well with what you're wearing."

Shandra's mouth formed an 'o' as she took it from Neeshka and clasped it around my wrist before I could have said anything.

"What is that thing?" I asked, wary; there was a faint pulsing coming from the gems, their hue perfectly matching the color of my eyes.

"Something Sand and I were working on…"the rogue said nonchalantly. "Might help you a bit during the trial."

"And I suppose this gown has some enchantment on it as well, right?" I murmured. It felt even stranger than when I tried it on for the fitting. It flew around me like light and power made into thread—every time I moved, it filled me with surety and calm, and quiet reassurance. With the gems of the bracelet, together they gave out an almost audible chord of sound, resonating in my bones. I couldn't believe no one else heard it.

"Just small ones, never fear." Neeshka clapped her hands; I was sure that wand the following smile was just as much to allay her own fears as to cheer me up. "And I am _so _glad we remembered the shoes as well… Now you are properly outfitted from head to toe."

"I think I need to go." I said airily, before she brought up the subject of my unmentionables again. I _liked _lace, but when I opened the box Neeshka claimed contained something for me to go under the gown, I wasn't quite sure what I was looking at. "Sand is probably jumping up and down by now."

"I am afraid so." Shandra picked up my blue cloak, freshly cleaned and free of the horrible stains marring it after the adventure of the Bryce crypt two days past. "You'll need this one, though, it's chilly out there." she said, clasping the pin in front and arranging the folds with a fussiness and natural flair for elegance that reminded me that she came from a noble family, too. Judging by how clean Duncan looked these past days, she definitely started to exert an influence over him. "I am sure Sand will have at least one hairbrush with him plus who knows what else, so he can fix you up in case something is not up to his standards." She let out a small chuckle and I followed suit, remembering how he ordered her to brush her hair, right outside Nasher's hall, before my first audience. "Now, off you go. We'll follow later and will be up on the gallery with the other merry riffraff, cheering for you." She hugged me very, very carefully, followed by Neeshka, who whispered shyly 'you look perfect' before she opened the door for me.

I concentrated on not stepping on the hem of my gown. Even though it did not have a train, the new shoes and the length of the skirt together still made me concentrate more than usual on the stairs. The shoes were new, and, therefore, creaked, too. Thankfully, I remembered Shandra's instructions on how to gather and lift my skirt while walking down steps.

"Oh, good, there you are." Sand bustled up, with Duncan in tow. "The coach has arrived."

"I could hear." I said, then noticed Duncan looking at me oddly. "What?"

"Um." He closed his mouth. "Um. Well. You look… well… different. That's all."

"Well, I am wearing something I normally wouldn't, so… yes. Thank you, Uncle." I noticed he was holding something in his hand. "What is it?"

"This is… something I kept…" He stumbled over the words, a bit breathlessly. "I… I think this is the right time to give it to you. It… belonged to your mother, Arrighan." He pressed something soft in my hands and turned away, hastily beating a retreat towards the kitchen.

It was a lace headscarf, a bit yellowed with age, but that did not diminish its beauty. It made such a perfect match with the trim of my collar and cuffs that I started to suspect Duncan had some say in selecting the fabric of the gown I was wearing.

"I never would have thought my mother possessed such a beautiful thing." I whispered while unfolding the scarf.

I wasn't sure how to take the fact that my uncle preserved something belonging to my mother for so long, so I just went for practical and decided not to think about it right now. The scarf slid over my head, feather light and silky. I hoped I did not look too ridiculous.

"Sand… I don't assume I am allowed any weapons, am I?" I asked, just to break the silence that enveloped as after Duncan's departure, but felt stupid as soon as the question left my lips. Of course, there will be no weapons allowed in the royal presence.

"Definitely not your sword, dear." He shook his head. "Sorry. This will be a trial, and your only weapon shall be the truth."

"Hells, she probably feels naked without that armor." I heard the slightly slurred drawl from the doorway. "Give her at least a knife, wizard, since she asks so nice."

I _knew_ Bishop would show up at some point. Neeshka told me she saw the ranger slunk away last night towards the _Dead Duck_… and apparently he just returned. I could smell the reek of cheap Dockside perfume on him from where I stood.

"And speaking about naked…" He let out a long whistle as he sized me up. I suddenly did feel like I didn't have much on. "Oh, holy girl… did you dress up like that for His Lordship the oathbreaker? I wonder: does he like you better this way then doing you in full plate?"

I felt the blood all run cold in my veins for a moment. Of all the people I wanted to see this morning before I boarded that coach to take me to the castle and to my trial, I had to meet _him_, and of all the things he could have said, he just had to…

The world slid out of focus a bit. I felt a sharp, sudden burning sensation right under my eyes: it was as if my powers blazed up under my skin finally answering Bishop's blasphemies with the full force of the god's wrath. I turned, slowly, feeling my right arm coming up to point at the ranger. Silver fire lined my line of sight for a brief second… when it cleared, I saw Bishop pale and for the first time there was an expression in his eyes. I saw fear.

"_**Go crawl back to your hole of despair, godless one**_." The words came to my lips unbidden, spoken with a coldness I could not credit myself with. "_**What do you know about oaths? You broke just about every single one that ever tied you. Go, wallow in your self-pity and pride, unwilling to give up either, until finally you are consumed from the inside**_. _**Child of Redfallows Watch**_, _**you have been measured a long time ago, and have been found wanting."**_

My body turned again, my hand lowering, eyes clear… and I heard Sand hiss and step back.

"By Mystra! Your eyes!"

"What… what are you talking about?" I whispered, all of a sudden uncertain.

His fingers touched my face right above my cheekbones; I flinched but did not move away. I felt him tracing something on my skin.

"You… you best see it yourself." I had no chance wondering how Sand could keep so many things in the apparently hundred pockets of his wizard's robe; he just held up a small, silver-framed mirror in front of me, wordlessly.

I stared into the tiny mirror's pool-- my face looked back at me, strangely not my own. My pupils, normally ordinary black, now were silver, shining with an inner light, adding an almost fearful intensity to my already unusual lavender gaze; and faint lines circled my eyes from above my cheekbones all the way up to my brows, like runes of power etched into my skin.

"Sand?" I said hesitantly; my hands were shaking. "I think we best get to the coach…"

"Indeed." he said slowly. "And as soon as possible. I don't think the ranger would like to be in your company too long after this."

He helped me up, which hasn't happened to me, ever; but he had to, I was moving like one not quite there. In the coach, he fussed with a blanket that somehow materialized under the seat, rearranged the scarf on my head, pulled the door close, and, as the coach rattled to a slowly accelerating start through the streets of the Docks District towards the Dolphin Bridge, I felt him taking my hand into his.

"Well, now." I heard his normally so dry voice now definitely amused. "That was a great start to our day, dear girl… a most auspicious one. I would not even have dreamed about getting such an obvious sign of your heritage… but oh, that will give some pause to that Luskan harlot, I tell you."

"Sand…" I breathed, my fingers like icicles in his warm hand. "What's happening to me?"

"Girl, I thought _you'd_ tell me…"He lifted an elegant eyebrow. "You were the one spending time with your confessor yesterday." He grew serious. "Mysteries of the gods are not my specially, but… It is odd, that it happened this morning. There must have been some kind of trigger, or conduit, or…" His voice trailed off, and there was, all of a sudden that sharp, almost hissing intake of breath again. "Of course!" he exclaimed. "Let me see: there is the gown, the cloak, and, if I remember, I told Neeshka to give you that bracelet." He pulled up my sleeve slightly so he could see it. "Ahh… yes. I have it now. I know the cloak had divine magic on it, that one we already established. I asked Prior Hlam yesterday to bless that bracelet, which he did, after I added my own little contribution to it… No worries, dear, just a simple Eagle's Splendor, augmented by the gems and your confessor's blessing, bound by my extraordinary skills for blending…" he hastened to add, as he noticed my startled look. "So, where was I? The gown, now, that's special. We chose the fabric, of course, then the cut, then Hassim's old crone did the sewing and I am sure she had some Rashemi trick in her thread, because I can _feel _something unfamiliar now, besides what we've added." He waved his hands around, getting excited. "Like I said, I am not as well-versed in divine matters as, say, our esteemed _Katalmach_ might be, but I'd definitely hazard the opinion, based on my knowledge of magical theory that what we have here is a sort of… overflow-induced damper breakage."

"Overflow in..." I said slowly, and paused. "Would you mind giving this to me in a way that I can understand, Sand, please? And slowly." I added.

I had no illusions about me and theories: while I could certainly hold a conversation by now about some aspects of the divine, raw magic I knew almost nothing about, save the most practical applications. Not that I wasn't interested or even mistrusted and despised it, like a lot of people in West Harbor. But frankly, our village wizard, Tarmas was not necessarily the most appealing teacher when it came to the arcane arts. How Amie could stand him, I still had difficulty understanding. He was a bitter, bitter man with some dark secrets he thought he could hide, but the shadow of which was rather obvious to my senses. And, besides him, my first encounter with another magic-user was the gith mage who killed Amie. So it was, I thought, somehow understandable if I didn't exactly seek to broaden my horizons when it came to magic other than what Tyr granted to His followers… which was an entirely different source from what Sand, Tarmas and the rest of the arcane magic users drew from.

"Sure thing, dear girl." Sand leaned back; he obviously enjoyed showing off his knowledge. I didn't mind. I suspected this will get him nicely into his best form for the trial. Besides, I really wanted to know what was going on with me.

"My somehow hastily formed theory, based on the circumstantial evidence, is that you had a damper on some abilities that are connected to your celestial heritage. A block, a plug, a _geas_… Something had to happen, or several things, to break it up. The combined effect of the several magically enhanced items you received this morning, the righteous anger over our favorite ranger's rather tasteless remark, and, last but not least, whatever happened yesterday loosened the plug, it popped out and pffht!" Sand made an upward sweep with his hands. "The sparkling wine is all running out." He looked at me curiously. "No, those lines are not fading… Your pupils are less silver, but, I am afraid, the marks are permanent. Hmmm. I wonder if you could find some old angelology tomes at the Temple of Justice that identify the pattern…"

If I felt cold before, now it definitely got icy in the coach.

"Erm… What exactly do you mean, Sand?"

"Some paladin you make." he sniffed. "May I suggest talking to our esteemed _Katalmach _about theology a bit more often than… other things, dear girl? Angelology. Theology's little daughter, the study of celestial beings… You know, where aasimars come from…?"

I took a deep breath.

Okay, This was… unexpected, but really… it made sense.

"So what you are really saying is… I need to add another mark to the long line labeled 'mysteries of my parentage'?"

"Dear girl…."Sand smiled a brilliant white smile; I had the image of a sea predator again. "It is _such_ a delight to have conversations with you; did I ever tell you that? Yes, that's precisely what I am saying. For whatever reason, in whatever way, someone felt it best if your celestial powers and the markings that go with that do not fully manifest until, for the want of a better term, it is time. And…" he leaned back and looked at me triumphantly, "…really, what better time to demonstrate where your blood came from, if not precisely before Ambassador Claven tries to prove just how much of a black-hearted sister of Lady Aribeth de Tylmarande you are?"

For the rest of the trip to Castle Never, we kept the conversation to the practical matters of the trial. The silver from my pupils eventually faded back to just small sparkles, but Sand was right—the runes etched into my skin as some kind of claim-marks by a higher power, remained.

"It may take a while for them to get through all the evidence, bless it, and the rest of the ritual nonsense right at the beginning after His Highness opens the trial." Sand explained. "They will begin with our evidence, then the accuser may present witnesses, then it is our turn to do the same. After that, Lord Nasher will make his judgment."

"Any chance to cross-examine?" I asked; best to know that ahead of time, then to embarrass him or myself by blundering through like someone who'd never encountered justice. Just because I came from the swamp, it didn't mean they had to believe I had remained that way.

I felt my battle-readiness waking up in me, familiar and metallic-sharp, and I allowed myself a small grin. If I treat this like another deadly battle, I should be just fine.

"On both sides." Sand nodded. "And no doubt that Torio will be absolutely merciless."

"Well, then, I just have to figure out how to handle her."

My grin got wider, more ferocious; I noticed Sand withdrawing a bit, as if I was something to give a lot of room to. His next words were thoughtful and matter-of-fact.

"Torio is an arrogant creature, but she is not a Luskan ambassador for nothing." He steepled his fingers. "We talked about this earlier: the court will be her theater, her arena, and she has had years of experience in treachery and twisting words. Now, don't get me wrong, the evidence we gathered certainly will help our case. However, she might have an advantage on you, despite you serving the God of Justice. She knows it is often the drama, the belief of everyone as to who is guilty and who is not that will ultimately win the day."

"Sand: there is no question in this." I shook my head grimly. "She is using the god's justice for her own gains… she thinks she can trick Tyr and have me convicted as an oath breaker, a mass murderer and possible conspirator. I am well aware that the audience will expect theater and to see someone to hang." I made the sign of the word above my heart. "Tyr knows I want them to have their fill."

"So as long as you do not threaten her openly, don't let her to get under your skin with her underhanded insinuations, and keep to the nice wordplay you are so unexpectedly good at…you should do fine." Sand summed the situation up rather neatly.

"I can certainly do that." I leaned forward and squeezed his hand, obeying a sudden impulse. "And, Sand? Thank you for representing me."

"Oh." he said, clearly surprised. "Well, you are welcome, dear girl." He pulled back, and narrowed his eyes.

"I must say this, though. You have… changed a bit. There is … hardness about you, a more determined purpose, almost as if…" He sniffed the air. "Almost as if you have something else, besides just the all-encompassing 'greater good', to look forward to once this is over."

_Elves_. I remembered how Daeghun was also always able to sense things happening to me that no one else could.

"If there is anything I am looking forward to, Sand, "I said in a low voice, thinking, _where is he going with this, I already __**had **__my confession, thank you very much_, "it's the end of this trial so I can continue to search for answers about a certain piece of silver lodged in my chest."

"Of course, dear girl." I gritted my teeth. Even his intonation resembled my foster-father's right now. "I wouldn't pry into your private matters, not for…"

"Sand." I cut him off mercilessly. "Don't just say it. Do it. As in: stop."

"Goodness, aren't we testy?" He actually allowed himself a wry grin. "I trust the exercises were not too hard yesterday?"

And _that_ made me blush, remembering how our little bout ended.

_Neeshka lunged at Casavir her usual way, fast as the wind and feinting with her rapier while directing a low, subtle cross-thrust with her dagger to his lower abdomen._

"_That…"said Casavir as he sidestepped, slammed his shoulder into her and stopped his blunted edge a hair's breadth from her face, aimed to thrust straight up to her brain through the mouth, "…was stupid for many reasons, if you'll pardon me for saying so. " He looked at me. "If you allow me a moment, my lady, while I explain...?"_

"_Be my guest. "I suppressed a smile while he extended a hand to the tiefling who got up from the ground, looking slightly surprised. "I'll wait. "I leaned on my practice sword and listened, like everyone else in the courtyard. _

"_First of all…I'd have had full plate coverage on my entire torso and legs, so your dagger would have been broken rather fast. Here, let me see that." He gently checked Neeshka's shoulder for injury, moving the arm though a full circle of motion. "Good; just a bruise. Now, I would assume most of your opponents this far did not include armored ones, so that's a forgivable mistake. However, you are relying on your speed alone too much. A fighter who trusts exclusively whatever single skill she or she possesses on a high level, will find severely lacking when he or she faces anyone against whom that particular skill has been taken out of the equation. In this case, a fully armored knight, or just anyone with groin protection worth talking about."_

"_And that would include any male in Faerun who'd ever been in a tavern brawl, goat-girl." interjected Khelgar fondly. "The lad is right, ya know. Yer fast, but you not only need to be fast… you'll need to know how to be fast against differently armed opponents."_

"_Finding their vulnerable spots, yes." Casavir bowed slightly towards the dwarf. "An excellent observation, Master Khelgar. On anyone wearing plate, it will be here, " he lifted Neeshka's dagger arm and traced the weapon around his own armpit, "right where the plates don't overlap, allowing movement of the arm…"_

"_Except if there's a maille shirt underneath, or just a mesh of maille protecting the armpit itself, "I said, earning a flash of smile from Casavir._

"_Correct, my lady." He turned back to Neeshka again. "In that case, you might try here." He indicated some spots right between his collarbone and neck. "Pauldron and gorget might leave a bit of a gap between them, or between gorget and helmet, depending on the construction of the plate."_

"_Of course, if you are as tall as I am, or you are on the ground from a blow or from making a feint…" Khelgar said, stepping up next to us, "You can always try to aim for the sweet spot." He swung his practice axe up from the ground in a short, sharp arc, stopping in about half an inch from Casavir's inner thigh. "Unless yer opponent wears chain underwear, that always works. Jes' need to find the artery there. Takes no more than two minutes for a nice big strapping lad like our Katalmach to bleed out. They scream rather loud, too."_

"_**Thank **you, Khelgar." said Neeshka sharply. "That visual was just what I needed before dinner. " She rubbed her arm. "Um… I think I am out for now, Rig. Sorry." she said sheepishly, looking at me. "I need to make sure the good ol' right arm is up to specs soon without any major bruises…. And I need to chew on what I was just given." She looked at Casavir. "Maybe after this whole thing blew over we could… um… try this in armor, you think?"_

"_I certainly would be delighted." Casavir furrowed his brows. "But are you sure you're not hurt?"_

"_Nah, it's just my self-esteem." Neeshka grinned. "Nothing some thinking and a good night's sleep won't fix. No need for healing… you still have an opponent to go, remember?"_

_That would have been me. _

_We circled each other for a while, going through the usual progressively more difficult steps of the Path, warming up for the combinations, then started in earnest. Everything went well, until all of a sudden he threw something at me I've never seen before. I managed to improvise a parry and a counterattack just in time._

_Darn, he **was** fast without armor._

"_Trying to embarrass me today?" I inquired with raised elbows, sword at eye level in front of me, right leg slightly bent and lower behind me, left slightly forward. "Or are you in a hurry to get dinner?"_

"_Just thought we might do something… more interesting today." And there he was, again. Out of the blue, a combination I definitely haven't seen before, perfectly designed to bind my sword and at the same time, from the very same movement, slide the blade in towards my neck. "You seemed to be a bit bored during sparring lately, my lady. We cannot have that." I barely parried this one, not even thinking about counterattacking. I was too busy trying to untangle my legs, before the next attack came._

_And anyway—was he **joking** again?_

"_The hells with this. " I murmured under my breath; I wanted to say something much more… colorful, but I remembered just in time that conversation with Hlam, and my promise. It was clear that Casavir decided I was ready for the real advanced parts of the Path--some of those moves I vaguely recalled from the end section of the manuscript I studied from. Not that I understood them, mind you. That was, according to my calculations, still months in the future. Casavir, on the other hand, apparently thought otherwise. _

_Well, you need two to waltz, so to speak. I grinned, and next time he came at my head with one of those odd bindings, instead of throwing a parry-counter, I simply went to the ground._

_With my feet scissoring his legs from underneath him, of course, twisting to the side and rolling further to avoid him coming crashing to the ground._

_At least that was the theory flashing through my head in a split second. The execution was less flawless: Tyr clearly was in an odd mood that day. Because, of course, Casavir managed to hook my legs under him as he fell. And of course he fell right on top of me, pinning me to the ground under him._

"_Now: you saw how sometimes a good improvisation can result in something much more dangerous than simply countering the attack would have?" He was so calm and collected, talking to everyone around us, while I felt like I was about to explode. There was no squirming, no escaping, no moving; my arm was out to the side, my sword barely remaining in my grasp. I could feel the warmth of his body along the entire length of mine, his long, lean muscles tense and contract as he kept me immobile. His scent, soap and Tyr's incense, mingling with his sweat, was all over my nostrils, rendering me even weaker…_

"_To go down to the ground voluntarily is a highly suboptimal move for anyone who is not equipped for groundfighting. Specially going up against someone who's substantially heavier." He kept talking, one arm across my neck, the other holding my sword arm's shoulder in a grip that somehow rendered all my muscles limp. My other arm was beneath me, trapped under our mutual weight. "Here, a little speed and dexterity, like yours, Neeshka," he dipped his head towards the tiefling, who beamed at him, "clearly would have served someone who normally does not rely on dexterity at all, given the plate armor's restriction."_

_Was he doing this deliberately, I wondered. The tone he spoke with was the carefully measured one of the instructor, and he avoided looking directly at me. I tried to lift my torso, but the pressure of his arm across my neck intensified to the point of actually being painful._

"_And thus, I believe the lesson for today was clearly demonstrated." He finally finished speaking (I really could hear only just about half of it, considering the position I was in) and I received one of those careful, blank looks I hated so much._

"_Well that tears it." I murmured under my breath. I took a deep breath, strained my neck up a bit… and licked his nose. As he gasped and reeled backwards, releasing me for a second, I jerked my arm, holding my sword, back and up, and shoved the pommel under his chin, pushing it a bit until resistance stopped and I could see his arms come out on the sides tapping the ground, signaling surrender. He also turned beet red._

"_I wouldn't want to break your spine." I said, smiling sweetly. "So would you get off me nice and slow, please?"_

"_Well, I certainly haven't seen **that **one from any Tyr paladin before." said Sir Darmon with a slight chuckle, breaking the silence that descended on the courtyard for a minute. "Maybe I ought to spar with you two a bit more often."_

"_Certainly unorthodox, yes." To my greatest relief, there was a faint, slow smile appearing in the corner of Casavir's mouth as he got up and hauled me on my feet too. "However, one must admit, that in certain situations it can be… rather effective." He kept his hands on my arms even after I was securely on my feet, and I wasn't so eager to pull away, either. I could still feel the warmth of him, and his aura was rippling with little silver sparkles, with clear amusement._

"_Yes, yes, yes, but Rig…" Neeshka chimed in, her freckles dancing, and I knew, just knew that I will blush in the next second. " Would you do that to an orc, too?"_

"Dear girl?" There was a light tap on my arm: Sand rose me from my musings. I looked at him, eyes wide: his face was serious. "We are at the gates. Your trial awaits."

\/p


	29. It's Probably Me

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections. It really helps me to get better, so please feel free to leave a review. Thanks for all of those who have already done so—you guys are great!**

**There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things. Ah, and there was one wet paladin with a towel on. Hence the M rating so far.**

**This chapter's soundtrack included the following: _Main Theme_ from Trevor Jones' _Last of the Mohicans_ soundtrack; _It's Probably Me _from Sting's _Ten Summoners' Tales_ (well, duh!), and _Sailing to Byzantium_ from Lisa Gerrard and Patrick Cassidy's _Immortal Memory._**

**And, as always, I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… Arrighan is entirely my fault, though.**

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: It's Probably Me**

"Lord Nasher Alagondar, Defender of Neverwinter and Reverend Judge Oleff Uskar, Lord Justiciar of Tyr!" The steward proclaimed, in a clear voice I could hear even behind the door that separated the little chamber I was told to wait from the great hall.

There were some moments of hushed silence; I could only hear some rustling and armor clinking. Sand clutched his notes to him rather protectively…then we heard Nasher's voice.

"Bring in the accused."

"Well, here we go, dear girl." The wizard said, with a gleam in his eyes that again, reminded me to a hunting dog when it finds its prey. "For better or for worse: are you ready?"

I took a deep breath.

"For Ember." I murmured, steadying my heartbeat. The armored guard at the door motioned us through; I squared my shoulders, lifted my head high, acutely aware of the way my mother's headscarf tickled the back of my neck slightly, made the sign of Tyr's sword above my heart… and walked steadily forward.

The Great Hall of Castle Never was enormous. With its hanging banners and tapestries, high windows, painted walls and vaulting it should have been awe-inspiring, but right then, I had little eye for its beauty. I concentrated on moving with something vaguely resembling quiet decorum instead of my usual long stride. The gown and the headscarf actually helped to slow me down. Sand kept to my side, ready to lend a hand under my elbow if needed. Thankfully, it wasn't.

As we passed by the rows of spectators (I assumed the ones on this floor were nobles and visiting dignitaries, the rest of the populace kept of the gallery running around three walls), I had to force myself to keep my gaze forward, not looking at anyone, while I heard the low murmur of those who glimpsed my face, partially hidden by lace. I was suddenly very grateful to Duncan for giving the headscarf to me.

At last, after what seemed to be an eternity, I reached the desk and chairs set for us on the right side of the dais where the Lord Nasher sat enthroned. Facing him I sunk into a deep curtsy, and returned his frank emerald green stare with that of my own.

"Reverend Judge, let the trial commence." Nasher spoke, in a clear, deep voice that carried. He nodded once, towards me, then, somewhat less deeply to the left, where Torio Claven stood, with her neatly stacked piles of paper and rolled-up parchments, dressed in another of those colorful outfits that made my head hurt just by looking at it.

I noticed The High Lord Justiciar, seated on Nasher's right, as he stood up and, bowing once towards the ruler of the city, announced:

"We are gathered here to determine the truth of the crime committed in the small village of Ember... its people slaughtered to the last man, woman, and child." He extended his arms in the position of blessing, and intoned. "Under Tyr's guidance shall the truth of this matter be revealed - and justice delivered."

I bowed my head and felt his blessing envelope me like a light and benevolent silver cloud. I offered my own prayer to the god on its wake, for strength and for His wisdom to open my eyes to see Truth.

"Is the accuser here?" Oleff asked, continuing with the formal part of the trial.

"I speak for those the accused slaughtered at Ember -- and I am here to see that justice is carried out this day." Torio's words came in a deferent tone that, upon closer reflection, dripped with sarcasm to such an extent that I could not contain myself. I shook off Sand's hand on my arm and took a half step forward.

"I think the ambassador speaks out of turn. No guilty verdict has been issued." I felt my headscarf sliding to my shoulders as I spoke and I stopped myself from reaching for it just in time—that would have sent all the wrong signals.

"The dead of Ember speak strongly enough of your guilt. How you can simply stand there after what you've done..." Torio's false indignation was as clear in the tone of her voice as if she'd declared it by words—at least to me. Her sentence, however, was cut short, by a low murmur rising in the audience. My face with its rune-marks now was clearly visible. I couldn't make out any words, but that was just as well. I definitely didn't want to turn my attention anywhere else but on Torio.

As soon as I locked gaze with her the first time here, I knew that this was, indeed, a battle of the most serious sort. I could, again, see those black tentacles clutching at her heart, yes… but at the same time, the vision was cleared and more detailed. I could also see that that horrid, writhing mass was not actually grown from her own vileness. Yes, there was petty evil there, and neglect, and hatred… but the blackness of putrescence, the source of those tentacles was somewhere else, outside her own soul. Her heart was trapped and caged, for so long that she almost entirely forgot that there was another way. I could see this written across her heart just as clear as I saw the fault lines on Casavir's soul the other morning.

I felt a brief chill running though my spine. The god, it seemed, granted me another permanent gift along with his markings on my face. Truth was there for me to see when I needed it.

The High Justiciar's clear voice cut off any others in the hall.

"The accused is correct, Ambassador - this trial has barely begun." His gray eyes were cold and piercing, like the winter skies outside.

"Forgive me, Reverend Judge. I am afraid my conviction got the better of me." Torio dipped her head, lowering her eyelashes.

"Any more slips of the tongue, Ambassador, and the court will not look favorably upon it." Nasher leant forward on his throne, slight anger on his features.

"Of course, milord." That irritated her, really; there was a frown marring the otherwise perfect smoothness of her marble-white forehead.

"Oh, well _done_." I heard the smile in Sand's voice next to my ear, then Oleff directed the next ritual question towards us.

"Are the accused here? And her defender?"

"We are present, and eager to bring the truth of this matter into Tyr's sight, Reverend Judge." answered Sand, with a slight and perfect bow.

"Very well." Oleff nodded, and, with a small motion of his hand, beckoned two waiting attendants. "We now list the items presented by the accused in their defense, and they will be shown to the people of the court, Lord Nasher, and held aloft for the eye of Tyr to see. "

They hauled all of it out; the quartermaster's log, the skin sample, the assassin guild's rings, the alteration powder from the dryad of Duskwood… all of it. I must admit, this was done in such a ceremonial and detached way that I let Sand to handle it, his melodious voice rising and falling as he presented, explained, implied and cajoled. I merely had to concentrate on sitting straight and not fidgeting, and tried to look around a bit.

My merry little band sat on the gallery, of course, opposite our side. I could clearly see Shandra elbowing Neeshka as she eyed a merchant's purse who was sitting in front of her. I could almost hear her hissed words, clearly read from her lips '_just because you're not at the Flagon, doesn't' mean you can carry on like a common…thief'._Duncan smoothed down the collar of his crispy white shirt nervously and touched Shandra's arm soothingly in such a perfect demonstration of their relationship that my heart ached a little bit seeing it. Elanee sat with straight back, wearing the deep forest green outfit we chose at Hassim's so long ago, its wine-red indeed setting off her auburn hair perfectly. Khelgar managed to comb out his beard for this occasion. He and Grobnar fidgeted quite a lot, and the dwarf kept stealing glances toward the end of the gallery, where, to my greatest surprise, I spotted Qara and Bishop, the ranger leaning against one of the columns, casually whispering to Qara who looked deadly bored. That made me stop, frowning… _What were those two doing together?_

And, more importantly, since I could not see him anywhere… _where was Casavir?_

Sand elbowed me sharply back to reality, taking his chair again, as Oleff's last words echoed across the space between us.

"…and that is the evidence before us. "

"Perfect, if I may say so. " The wizard sounded excited as he looked around. He sat back, rearranging his papers and notes he barely consulted while presenting our evidence. "Look at their faces - Torio's got quite a task ahead of her. " He took a smug look at Torio, who indeed seemed rather unhappy as she fiddled with her neat stack of papers. "That little harpy, let's see her fly out of _this_ trap. "

"We are not out of the woods yet, Sand." I shook my head just a touch, but continued to glance around.

_Nope. Not on the gallery…_

"The accuser, Ambassador Torio Claven of Luskan, may now call witnesses to the stand. "said Oleff, just at the exact same second when I finally spotted whom I was looking for.

I should have figured this will happen. He sat between Kyli's father, Lord Bryce, and my knight, Sir Grayson, right behind some others of the Nine. I immediately understood the implications of that, and had to work hard so the fierce joy welling up in my heart does not give rise to tears. To see him sitting where he always belonged, as equals with those two nobles… that was worth more than I could ever imagine. I could not figure out how or why that happened, but I had no time to dwell on it, not right now. I could just be thankful to Tyr, and take it as it was.

"These pieces of... evidence... if that is what they _truly _are, can easily be explained away. It may seem extensive, but our witnesses will tell a different story." Torio's voice was shrill and defensive, quite unlike the perfect, trained tones she sang with earlier.

I felt a brush of white wings ever so slightly on my hair and I spoke, before I fully realized I was doing so.

"To question the evidence presented within this court and before the god Tyr offends me as a servant of the Even-Handed, Reverend Judge. Accuse me if you must, but I would ask the ambassador not to insult the gods." My fingers touched my holy symbol in my neck, and I knew from the slight murmur in the hall that the gesture was not unnoticed.

"The accused speaks truly. " Oleff said coldly; I caught from the corner of my eye Sir Grayson wink at Casavir. "Present your evidence and witnesses, ambassador, but do keep in mind that Tyr watches over us all in this matter. "

I wasn't finished, not yet, though. The brush of the feathery wings returned, and I followed their lead.

"Forgive me, Ambassador, but are you speculating on the truth of the evidence?" I asked, slightly tilting my head to the side._"Remember, Arrighan: this is a theater."_ I heard Sand's earlier warning echoing in my head.

"Speculate?" Her eyes narrowed. She tried to see my angle. "The truth is what we are here to determine. Everything is in question. "

"Is it?" I felt Sand tense next to me, but I had no time for that, not now. "You seemed quite certain of our guilt. Are you admitting that is also in question? "

"Of course not, and I aim to prove it. " It felt as if I had invisible fingers extended towards her, probing her heart, trying to find the extent of those scars running though it.

"So: which is it, Ambassador? Are we guilty or not in your eyes? I am finding it difficult to find the truth in _your _wordplay."

And there it was. Anger bubbled up, fierce and almost out of control--someone started to get under her skin and that never happened, not with Torio Claven!

"I suggest you hold your tongue – I think you will want to hear what my witnesses have to say. " That sounded harsh and sharp like a whipcrack in the large hall; then silence, as she bit her lip, realizing just what she'd said—and how.

"My, she has a temper…" Sand's brows were drawn down in thought. "Well done, I am impressed." There was a clear murmur of distaste in the audience.

"I don't exactly know what I am doing here, Sand, but thanks." I whispered, concentrating on not fidgeting with the trim of my headscarf as I stole another glance towards Casavir. He was controlling his features admirably, but I learned to read him well enough by now to know that this schooled impassivity was not his true face. It was almost surreal, seeing him there between two peers of the realm, both dressed in richly embroidered doublets with ruffled shirts, trimmed mustachios and shoulder-length ringlets. He seemed almost painfully utilitarian with his close-cropped raven dark hair and clean-shaven sculpted profile.

I've never seen him wearing that color, though. It was a dark, deep purple with black undertones, and I shuddered when I recognized the hue--I have seen it in the Korranos family crypt. It was the color with which the unknown mosaic master picked Tyr's cloak—not crimson, but a darker, cooler color, that set off the brilliant blue of his eyes and made his dark hair shine with a light I've never noticed before.

"I would say whatever you do, keep it up." Sand sounded a bit more relaxed than before. "If this is related to those marks on you, girl, I shall definitely take a large donation to the Temple of Justice tomorrow."

"Just wait, Sand… she looks awfully smug." I refocused on Torio, feeling my stomach tense. I did not care for the smile that appeared in the corner of her finely carved mouth. She definitely thought her turn was coming.

"I would like to call a most important witness, yes, Reverend Judge." The Luskan ambassador said, smoothly, as if she hadn't ever lost her temper. What she said next made Sand freeze in mid-motion as he arranged some notes in front of him. "Unknown to many, the people of Ember were _not_ slaughtered to the last woman and child."

"Crap." I said under my breath. "They must have gotten to Alaine. "

_Well, there goes another hour spent in prayers for that transgression. This not swearing business was going to be **hard**, _I thought.

"I call on Alaine, the last living resident of Ember, to speak on what she saw that fateful day." There was a definitely triumphant smile on Torio's face as Alaine was escorted into the hall though a side door.

"I told you." Sand said quietly, as we watched the slender, pale girl slowly and hesitantly walk up to the stand that was placed in the middle for the witnesses, and receive the blessing of Tyr from Oleff. "Should have been merciless and tell her to come forward on your side."

"Look at her, Sand…"I shook my head. "She can barely keep it together as it is… she probably was coerced into this, brought in secretly and kept in the Luskan embassy compound, just like you had our witnesses sequestered." I looked around quickly to see if I spotted someone, and was successful. "I can see Haeromos down amongst the other visiting notables, and he does not look very happy, which means Alaine is here without his consent."

"And that cannot be good." Sand nodded. "Well, there's nothing to it now. Let's see what type of trap Torio set up with this one first." With that, we both directed our attention back to the witness stand.

"Alaine... thank you for coming here, I know how difficult it must be. But you realize that you are the only voice of Ember that survived that terrible tragedy." Her usually arrogant voice was mild now, almost soothing, fitting her slender, petite frame more. "Now... please, tell the court what you saw."

Alaine was having serious trouble keeping her composure. With lips trembling, tears staining her cheeks, white handkerchief in her shaking hands, she was the veritable incarnation of the distressed victim and sole survivor of a cruel massacre.

"I... I saw the accused... there at Ember... she... killed them all... "she whispered, barely audible. There were gasps in the audience, and more than one sharp glance directed towards me.

"This isn't good." Sand hissed. "That felt like a bucket of blood poured into shark-infested waters. We need to change the course of the river streaming from her eyes, or we're all going to hang."

"I felt it too." I answered quietly, and raised my voice. "Reverend Judge, I want to cross-examine this witness, if possible."

"It will be allowed." Oleff nodded firmly. I breathed a sign of relief and continued to watch the scene before me. I was aware that Sand was looking at me curiously, but chose not to react.

"Go on, Alaine... tell us what you saw." Torio prompted, still using that gentle voice.

"All those people... and they had no weapons, they had no way of fighting back, but... but..."The girl's voice broke again; she sobbed quietly.

I felt my nails dig into my palm as anger rose slowly over the way the Luskan ambassador used Alaine towards her ends, and to play the audience.

"But the accused slaughtered them all, did she not?" Torio walked towards Alaine, gently placing a hand under her chin and lifting her head so her eyes looked directly into hers, _blocking her view of me._

_Very clever, this Luskan woman is_, I thought.

"Yes. I... I... saw it all. "I heard Alaine's weak voice. "I took refuge in Port Llast... there was nowhere left for me to go."

"You are safe now, Alaine... and the accused cannot harm you here." Torio let her hand fall and spun around, dramatically opening her arms towards the dais where Lord Nasher and Oleff sat.

"What more proof is needed? We have a witness, a _witness_ that saw the accused perform the deed!" She shrugged gracefully. "Perhaps we should move on to the sentence now, the accused's guilt is plain."

Sand moved to rise, but I held out a hand.

"I have some questions for her first, if you don't mind." I said mildly, barely looking at her. I shuffled some papers.

Torio bit her lip, but forced a smile.

"Of course. Please." She glided forward on her high heels and leaned in so I could feel her breath on my face. "The trap has already closed, pretty little dear, there is no squirming out of it now."

"That is not for us to decide, Ambassador." I said on the same quiet tone, brushing my holy symbol so she understood. "Alaine…"I looked up at her and bowed slightly as I sat. For the first time, she looked at me, and I saw her eyes widen and her mouth form a round pink 'o'as she saw my face. "We spoke in Port Llast, and you admitted that it was a possibility that it was someone disguised as me, correct?"

There it was. With Torio no longer obstructing my view, I took a deep breath and reached out with my other Sight.

She was afraid, oh, she was so afraid… The guilt over being the only survivor and not being there when her parents, her friends, everyone she knew and loved since she was a babe was slaughtered, the heart-poisoning feeling of '_I should have been able to save them_'… the knowledge of being completely alone in the world, feeling like a burden on everyone in Port Llast, she who always have been so strong and independent… ah, so _that's_ how the Luskans got to her.

I felt compassion rising in me; she was of Ember, and she lived. She needed justice just as well as the others, like the ones who couldn't be here, the ones who couldn't speak any more. The lines around my eyes felt warm again as I looked at her, trying to make her understand that it was not her fault, that it was all right to live, that it was important that she lived, that she remembered them, but without guilt…

"Yes, I did." Alaine's voice was surprisingly strong a she looked back at me, and I heard Sand's sigh next to my ear as he eased back to his chair.

"What!" All porcelain beauty was gone from Torio's features; her face acquired two red spots on her cheekbones.

"It seems she just retracted her certainty of what happened." I said gently, clasping my hands in front of me on the carved wood of the desk. "Could have been someone who looked like me. "

"I... I am no longer certain." Alaine spoke again; Torio turned and stared at her incredulously, her delicate hands balled into fists. "The more I think back to what I saw... it just seemed so purposeful, yet so senseless at the same time." The girl's voice got stronger as she continued. "I mean, in some respects, it seemed like a slaughter... but exaggerated somehow, as if someone wanted to make it seem that way. And they made sure I saw it and survived."

She was, indeed, as if some kind of spell lifted up from her.

"No more questions, Reverend Judge." I said, dipping my head. From the corner of my eye I saw some movement from the gallery: Shandra was pushing towards the stairs in the back, with a determined look on her face that I recognized instantly. I knew then that she'll intercept whoever meets Alaine at the door, and once that happens, Alaine will be safe, at last.

Alaine turned, curtsied towards Nasher and Oleff and was escorted down the witness stand. I caught her looking at me again, hesitantly, and making a small sign above her heart I recognized—the sign of Ilmater.

"Good." The woman knew how to cut her losses indeed. She returned to her desk with her skirts swishing, clasped her hands on a pile of parchment, and looked at Oleff demurely. "Let us move on - enough has been said. We would like to call our next witness now, Reverend Judge. Someone who knows the accused very well indeed." Her green eyes shone with gleeful light as she announced. "I call forth Casavir Korranos."

"What?" Sand's voice almost cut through the general murmur that rose in the hall.

I felt like cold water just had been poured all over me; my voice was considerably lower than Sand's, but still loud enough that he heard it and winced.

"That fucking bitch." I tried to be good, really, but this was instinctive. I almost felt my lips draw back from my teeth in a snarl. "That conniving, Shadow-shagging, Luskan-licking tuppence whore!"

"Easy, girl." Sand murmured, leaning closer and putting a hand on my arm. "She's not worth it…"

"Not just no, but fuck no." I shook my head. "We ought to object, Sand…"

"I_told _you this was coming!" he hissed, his eye on the slowly rising Casavir. "Now be good, stop cussing in such manner that would make your Uncle Dunk pale, and _concentrate_! I need you!"

"I was not aware that there is anyone of that name in my city." That was Lord Nasher, unexpectedly speaking up. "By royal decree, that family ceased to exist."

"Then this trial, my lord, is the trial of surprises for all of us." Torio's smile was that of a tiger. "Apparently unknown to even the highest in Neverwinter, the last scion of one of the oldest families is alive, and have returned to the city from exile."

"He is stalling." I murmured, watching Nasher intently. "That's what he's doing, I am sure of it. Nevalle met Casavir when he brought the news of the accusation, and he would have informed him. So would have Lord Bryce and Sir Darmon."

I bit my lip as Casavir took the witness stand; he had his holy-warrior-aristocrat mask fully snapped into place, serene and expressionless. The only thing betraying his tension was the by now familiar way his shoulders bunched up under the Tyrran purple doublet.

"Or are you saying, my lord, that this man here is an impostor?" Torio raised an eyebrow. I caught my breath: that was a masterstroke, and Nasher walked right into it. "Oddly enough, for someone declaring himself a servant of our god Tyr."

"You go too far, Torio Claven." Nasher almost growled. "You would do well to remember where you are and what is at stake here." He turned his intense emerald gaze on Casavir now, and I almost shrank back from _something _I felt passing between them.

"You have the right to refuse testifying, young paladin. You know that."

"I have nothing to hide, my lord." Casavir bowed his head. "Let the Ambassador of Luskan ask her questions."

"Very well, then." Nasher nodded, and leaned back on his throne, steepling his fingers under his chin. "Let the records show that Casavir of Tyr, the last son of the descendants of Galavren Korranos, second of the original Nine, recently returned to the City of his forefathers, appeared in court today to testify on the bequest of Torio Claven, Ambassador of Luskan, concerning the matter of the massacre of Ember."

_Oh, beautifully done. _I almost clapped my hands together, but instead, let out the breath I did not realize I was holding and concentrated, like Sand told me to do.

"Lord Korranos…" Torio started, but Casavir interrupted her, in a cold voice that nevertheless cut through hers like his blade.

"I prefer the name by which I was inducted into the god's service, Ambassador Claven. I was not formally declared head of my House, since it does not exist any more."

"Ah, well." Torio waved a hand in dismissal. "Such formalities can hardly matter…we shall return to that later."

"We shall not." said Casavir quietly, but firmly. Torio's head snapped up. "You _will _deal with my testimony as one from Casavir of Tyr. Remember, Ambassador--the god of Justice oversees this trial."

"As you wish." hissed Torio. "At any rate, I am interested only in your interactions with the accused. You travel with her, do you not?"

"I do."

"Hells, he makes that sound like a declaration in front of a priest, dear girl…" Sand murmured, and I had to stifle a laugh, despite the painful constricting of my chest. Because, yes, indeed, he _did_. And that left me a little flushed, thinking about it.

"Let me ask you a question." Torio purred, rising from behind her desk, glancing leisurely at a leaf of paper in front of her. "Have you ever observed the accused causing... or near... any acts that compare to the destruction at Ember?"

"I really don't think you could ever accuse someone like…"

"Answer the question." Torio cut in suddenly, changing her tone to sharp.

"No." Casavir glared back at her, his chin jutting forward defiantly.

"So you were _not _traveling with the accused when a certain…" Torio consulted the piece of paper in front of her again, "…Mistress Shandra Jerro's farm was destroyed by fire, utterly burning to the ground, her servants killed, while the accused was there?"

"I was, yes, but…"

"And you were with her, were you not, when the Archives of Neverwinter suffered serious damage, two of the Archivists slain, the inner, secret chambers mysteriously broken into and almost destroyed?" Torio continued; her voice arching triumphantly upwards.

I could see her tactics now. The Luskan harlot _knew _that a paladin couldn't lie. All her questions were such that he had to answer yes, but at the same time, gave her the opportunity to subtly but surely paint both of us into a corner where a real law-upholding and pure paladin simply would not go.

Casavir blinked.

"Well, yes, but that was after…"

"Next time when I ask you a question, I want you to _answer _it, without objecting or giving me exceptions. " Torio snapped. "Remember what you said about the god watching. You were in her company when the establishment of a law-abiding resident of this city, an… alehouse of a certain Duncan Farlong was likewise the scene of serious disturbance in the middle of the night just last month, requiring Watch assistance including the removal of several bodies. Moreover, you and she were both present in the Blacklake Cemetery two days ago, where a horrific massacre of innocent youth took place, touching on the lives of some of the most prominent families of the city." She flashed pearly white teeth. "See, we know something of her activites in Neverwinter already - as well as the lands around. So think carefully before you answer, servant of Tyr." She placed the emphasis on the last part, and looked up, hands clasped behind her back, slightly rocking back and forth, like a small and lethal snake ready to strike. "Is she someone who might be capable of something like the destruction of Ember?"

"No." His calm was admirable. I clutched at Sand's hand under the table, and to my slight surprise he returned the squeeze. Casavir continued, in the same even, measured tone. "She is a noble woman, someone of great character. To hear her slandered like this makes me angry at the injustice of it."

"Ah. " Torio leaned forward, eagerly. "Interesting. Angry enough to attack... to kill those who stand against the accused, perhaps? I see."

"By the Gods, Ambassador…" Casavir said slowly, and I felt his anger finally rising, like a huge, blue-and-silver thundercloud, "if you are accusing _me _of what happened at Ember..."

"Oh,_I_ make no such accusations. " Torio shrugged, but her sharp eyes never left Casavir's face. "But trouble does follow the accused, oddly enough? Perhaps you are blinded…" She licked her lips. "You would not be the first paladin, after all, who places his or _her _feelings before their service to their city." There were gasps in the audience, and I knew then that this was where she was going all along. "If I recall, the recent, rather unfortunate… animosities between our cities started when a servant of Tyr, Lady Aribeth de Tyl…"

"It is well known that there is animosity between Luskan and Neverwinter, dating back to the war. When tragedy strikes, each has been known to blame the other first." Bind and counterattack. Oh, how proud I was of him! I would not have been able to withstand the urge to strangle her, but Casavir was just standing there, drawing his quiet dignity around himself like a cloak. The crowd quieted and watched as he slightly turned so he faced Torio squarely, one foot placed ahead of the other, opposite shoulder pushing forward, one hand rising slowly. I recognized the pose, and so did Sand, I was sure, as he was the one who pointed it out to me earlier. It was one seen on some old statues in the City—that of the classical orator, starting their final, inevitable and devastating argument.

_After all, he did receive a classical education_. The thought fluttered vaguely at the edge of my consciousness while I felt my lips twist into a small smile. If I was right, Torio was in for something spectacular.

"We do not need a history lesson here, Ember is all that concerns us. " Torio said archly.

"Ambassador: it was you who brought up history yourself just now." Casavir's shrug was a study in grace. "And history is important to this case, as are borders and treaties established by such history." He slightly turned his head towards the dais where the High Justiciar sat and lifted an eyebrow, questioningly.

"We will allow it." Oleff nodded.

"Very well." Torio retreated behind her desk, her hips swaying to the rhythm of her high-heeled shoes pattering on the marble floor.

_Bitch. Definitely._

"We are all familiar with the Luskan War, and the atrocities committed during the Luskan aggression." Casavir continued, now turning again, assuming the same pose but addressing his words largely to those on the floor and on the galleries. There was a murmur rising following his words, assenting.

"There is no need to dwell on past-" Torio started, distinctly uncomfortable, but Casavir's words rode over her protest.

"The burning of much of Neverwinter, the slaughter of many of its people on the streets as Luskan fought for control of the city. It is well documented."

"Reverend Judge…" Torio tried to speak over him, raising her voice. "We surely are not here for a recounting of old wars…"

"And furthermore, many of the atrocities within Neverwinter committed by Luskan forces somehow bear a striking resemblance to what occurred at Ember. " He went on as if she hasn't even spoken, his voice schooled to rise up to the furthest reaches of the galleries without shouting.

"Indeed. " Torio snarled. "And what dusty tome or witness shall you grasp for next in her defense? Pray tell—amuse me with a name."

I heard Sand whispering something under his breath, but before I could ask him, Casavir already answered, shrugging again, turning his right palm upwards.

"I believe Lord's Alliance Account of the Luskan War, an impartial script, contains specific examples." His azure gaze rested on Torio with badly veiled contempt and grim satisfaction. "Shall I recount them? After all, Ambasssador, I am here to answer your questions fully and truthfully, as my sacred oath binds me."

"Enough of this... diversion." Torio shook her head. "Let the record show that the witness refused to answer my…"

"I would say, Ambassador…" Nasher growled, and Torio shrank back from the thunder that clearly was building in his voice, "…that Casavir Korranos answered to the best of his abilities, and should now be dismissed from the witness stand. Remember that it was you who called him up as a witness. Would not you agree?"

Torio could only nod, and Nasher bowed his head dismissively.

"Then your testimony is concluded, young paladin; you may leave the stand." I noticed that he did not address Casavir by name, not directly, and I made a mental note of that as it somehow seemed important.

"I'd like the chance to call our witnesses now." Sand spoke up quickly. I was too busy watching Casavir walk back to his seat, and receive a friendly pat on the back from Sir Grayson. A tight little knot in the pit of my stomach loosened up a bit; he was off the hook.

_Yes. I can do this. Hells, I can do this easily. He shouldered a large part of the burden for me there, evening the path. _I clasped my hands and sent a quick prayer to the god._ Even-Handed, you are merciful beyond belief to me, your wayward daughter… keep your maimed hand over me and let Your justice to triumph today!_

"In a moment." Torio was recovering; she flashed a brilliant smile towards Sand that had less warmth in it than Midwinter night. "I would like to have another, most important witness, if I may?" She glanced at Oleff, who nodded. "Why, I call the accused as a witness, of course. "

Another murmur rippled though the audience as I rose, feeling their gaze on me like a thousand little needles prickling my skin.

"Then ask what you will, and I shall speak the truth." I walked forward, remembering just in the last minute, _Skirt! Skirt, not trews or armor!_

I slowed down.

I felt a slight surprise again over just how young she was for an ambassador. Maybe Casavir's age, but definitely not older than that. And so small and fragile-looking, especially facing me. She was about Sand's height, who came up exactly to my nose.

_All right_. _Just remember, Rig, this is war, and you'll be fine._

"My question is a simple one. Why did you kill the people of Ember?"

That definitely was a loaded question. It was also a very direct one.

"Ambassador, you presume guilt when no verdict has been reached. I am innocent of these accusations." There, that should remind everyone of two things. One—she went down this path before, and two—paladins never lie.

"So you have _not_ been to Ember? Not seen the dead at your feet?"

_Darnit, where was she getting her information?_ I recalled Sand saying that the city was riddle with informants, but still…

"Ambassador, I went to Ember to see the murder for myself, not to commit it." I started to see where she was going with this, but I had to make sure, so I feinted, and quietly nodded to myself when she went for it just as I expected.

"So you were _in_ Ember? Why? That is Luskan lands, yet there is no record of an invite or permission to enter our land." Torio frowned. "It seems we may have hit upon yet another crime, a trespass resulting in murder of the worst kind." She spread her hands. "Hard to expect anything else from a woman with such… simple origins claiming such a… exalted position."

"That does not make me a murderer, only a witness to what was left after the crime, as you well know." I resisted the urge to shrug; instead, I returned her gaze squarely and let her see the marks of the god fully on my face.

"It seems you're simply circling the issue. If you were at Ember, admit it, if you saw the dead, admit it, just tell the truth for the court, please, and we can move on." She turned slightly towards Oleff. "I wonder if all holy warriors of Tyr in Neverwinter are so good at avoiding direct questions as those I encountered today."

_Really subtle there, queen of bad dress-taste…implying, again, that I am not exactly a true warrior of the God of Justice. Very nice._

_However, Black Garius' exceptionally poorly endowed harlot, I think I got you now, exactly where I want you._

"Ambassador, as I've said, I am innocent." I said aloud, seeing the distaste clearly visible on the High Justiciar's normally so calm and composed features. "I mourn the loss of people at Ember, and I am at a loss why anyone would do such a thing." _That was my bind, bitch_.

"Why would someone attack Ember, Ambassador?"

Torio frowned.

"I believe that is why we are here, isn't it? Although, you can answer better than I."

_And now, let me set up the baiting move…_

"But I can't. It has no military value. It is not even a viable border target, nor was it worth robbing. So why was it targeted? "

Her eyes narrowed.

"It seems slaughter was the only reason. An entire village... wiped from the map, gone."

_Very good. Play that up. Go ahead. In the meantime, let me start the counterattack with an unusual feint first._

"But that again makes no sense." I said slowly. "If one wished to kill Luskan people, one would simply declare war while your city is occupied with the war against Ruathym."

"And so you are saying that this may have been militarily motivated?"_Yes! Yes, she is taking it_. I schooled my features to one of serene impassivity in the best manner I've seen from Casavir, and listened to her. "The people of Ember slaughtered solely to test our defenses? Our resolve?"

"I do not know, Ambassador." I spread my hands and shook my head.

_And now…let's get those strikes in, and without stopping, until she's down on the ground and bleeding._

"But in this case, I think it was actually more difficult to attack the intended target... me."

"What?" Her eyes were confused.

"Come now, Ambassador…" I said cordially. I even managed a smile. "I am a supporter of Neverwinter and Lord Nasher who has come into conflict with Luskans covertly entering Neverwinter before this point." From the corner of my eyes, I saw the lord of the city slightly leaning forward on his throne, listening intently.

Torio snorted.

"Preposterous. Luskan has not set foot in Neverwinter before... and if there was conflict with you, it was no doubt due to your aggression."

I took a deep breath and let my voice ring out clearly. I did not learn any public speaking when I was getting my education, such as it is, but Aevan gave me lessons in how to control my breathing to issue commands, if necessary, and I remembered those now. I think even the guards at the far end of the hall could hear me now.

"Unable to reach me directly, you sought to lure me to Ember... and then force me into Low Justice in Luskan, which, as we know, would be no justice at all." I turned now, opening my arms towards the audience. "But, fortunately, the people of Neverwinter resisted, as did Lord Nasher himself - who would _never_ give up a Neverwinter citizen without attempting to find the truth first!"

Cheering erupted around me. People were jumping to their feet, clapping. On the floor, some of the nobles broke out in smiles our quiet laughter; the out-of-town dignitaries were nodding appreciatively, while the members of the Nine present, Nevalle included, contributed with a definite noise of rattling their swords just a bit too loud.

That was a little bit more than I intended, so I looked at Sand to see if he was frowning, but my attorney had a mile-wide smile on his face I've never seen before.

"Perfect, dear girl." he said, smugly, as I stepped back behind the desk. "It may even be that I'm actually learning a thing or two." He sighed. "That's, I am afraid, a definitely large monetary donation to Lord Tyr's temple on my behalf. You make me a virtuous person at the end, if I am not careful."

"Flatterer." I murmured at him, flushed a little bit. The clapping and shouting slowly abated, leaving Torio deadly pale and grim in the middle of the floor.

"Enough!" For the first time I saw real anger in her eyes as she looked at me. There was something else, too, as I focused on her again with my other Sight. Was that … fear? "I have asked you to answer my question--why did you kill the people of Ember!"

_Time for the mercy stroke, then_.

"I_have_ answered your question already, ambassador, but you have yet to answer mine! Why were Luskan forces entering Neverwinter, and why after I drove them off, did you take revenge on your own people to punish me? There is no sense in it! "

The cheering was deafening this time; people were stomping their feet, shaking their fists and yelling. This time, even some of the nobles stood up from their seats, including Sir Grayson and Lord Bryce. For the first time today, I caught Casavir's eyes, and all of a sudden I was very grateful for the chair behind me. I sat down, hard, and gripped the edge of the ornately carved desk so hard that the pattern dug into my palm. I had to slow my heartbeat down, it was hammering so madly between my ribs.

_And to think that I thought once he had almost no emotions to speak of…sweet Tyr, have mercy!_

It was a very, very good thing that there were so many people around us, indeed.

"Let it be shown that the accused refused to answer directly - or at all..." Torio waved a hand towards the clerk recording the proceedings; her voice could barely be heard above the noise. "I have no more patience for... for this farce."

"Order! Order!" The High Justiciar tried to overcome the crowd's shouting, but to no avail.

"Apparently, Neverwinter's fine people already know the outcome of this trial. "Sand murmured into my ear, just as Oleff's voice finally succeeded in rising above the audience's roar, ordering a break before the defense witnesses could be presented.


	30. Eveningstar

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections. It really helps me to get better, so please feel free to leave a review. Thanks for all of those who have already done so—you guys are great!**

**There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things. Ah, and there was one wet paladin with a towel on. Hence the M rating so far.**

**This chapter's soundtrack included the following:**_** Stella di mattino **_**from Ludovico Einaudi's **_**I giorni, **_**and **_**The Arrival of Lady Jessica **_**and **_**End Title **_**from Brian Tyler's epic **_**Children of Dune **_**soundtrack.**

**And, as always, I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… Arrighan is entirely my fault, though.**

**Chapter Thirty: Eveningstar**

We were not allowed to talk to anyone, so each party withdrew to those little chambers on the side of the great hall we've been waiting before. Light refreshments were served—at least that's how the quiet and unobtrusive palace staff called them: 'would you care for some light refreshments, my lady?' was a phrase I've not encountered before, ever. Nor had I any idea that this meant a complete breakfast table where one pointed to things that caught the eye and then said staff would bring it while I sat and fidgeted with the cuffs of my gown and Sand jotted down notes and received some pieces of paper from runners coming up and passing the messages to a waiting guard by the door.

"So… we'll have Lord Callum coming in and ready first. "he murmured, dipping his pen back into the silver inkwell they had on the little desk in the room. "Is he all right with you to testify first?" He accepted a goblet of iced water and a couple of pieces of fruit on a plate from a servant.

"Sure, Sand… but I thought you were to have a speech as well?" I sipped on my coffee and sighed. Life was instantly more bearable. With the perfect amount of cream too. _How_ did that man know how much cream I liked in my coffee, anyway?

"Well, yes." He smiled, pleased with himself. "I am glad you remembered… I do, indeed, have a brief opening speech with some rather clever cutting barbs prepared. But I thought you'd rather be found innocent as quickly as possible…?" He raised an eyebrow archly, and I found myself returning the gesture.

"While I would prefer that, Sand, don't forget whom I serve. Tyr is the god of just retribution. I would have my opponent, who orchestrated the horrific massacre of innocent people and then attempted to drag several similarly innocent people's name and reputation into mud while thinking she can trick Tyr himself, to squirm and suffer and fully realize just what she'd done." I took another sip and shook my head. "No, you go ahead and give that speech. And call as many witnesses as possible. I am assuming you'll have Marcus last?"

Sand lifted one of those little pieces of paper he has received.

"Yes, he's around, and safe, and so is Nya, your herbalist friend from Port Llast. I also sent for Shandra; once she makes sure Alaine is safe, she's willing to give a brief testimony, as she knew Ember and its people."

"As long as you are not intending to drag Casavir back to the stand, I have no objections. " I shuddered a little, and clutched my mug a bit closer to me. "That was…"

"Not entirely unexpected." Sand reminded me. "If you recall, I told you this angle will be exploited… but he handled it most expertly, and looks like he shut that particular line of questioning down successfully. You can always count on that man to do what's expected… and to tell the truth, sometimes he can even surprise me." He shook his head. "No, I have no intentions of calling him again; that would spoil the impact of his appearance the first time. " He furrowed his brow. "Something still worries me a bit, though. I feel Torio went down a bit too easy. I am afraid she'll have some more tricks up her sleeve. Be on your guard."

"Yes, O, wizard…" I looked at him fondly. "What would I do without you?"

"Flatterer." he returned the favor I paid to him earlier and gave me a wry grin. "That's the problem with paladin charisma, you know… you just don't know when to stop."

"I have no idea what you are talking about." I said archly, and nibbled on a piece of pastry, then put the plate down. "I hate to see all of this going to waste, but it's not as if I have an appetite."

"Don't worry about it… what's left is given to the poor as alms at the end of each meal. They take it to the hospital by the shrine of Ilmater." Sand said, then, seeing my surprised expression, added. "Why, you surely didn't think the Lord Nasher was getting cheered on with such abandon today after your compassionate little speech for nothing? People in this city actually think him a good ruler, for whatever reason. "

"And you?" I stood up and started pacing; this wait did not help my nerves. "What do _you _think? You are in his service, after all."

He looked at me, a bit puzzled, as if no one else ever asked this question from him.

"Me?" That graceful shrug was back again. "I am just a Dockside wizard on the lowest level of His Highness' agents."

"Sand." I stopped and looked at him. "Do not try to sell mud to this swamp-born." He snorted. "No, seriously. I realize this is not the best time to pry into your past, but… just how exactly did you come to be sworn to Neverwinter's service?"

"And why do you need to know it now?" he demanded, turning to face me and putting his fruit plate down. He seemed rather touchy about this subject. "You got cold feet about me defending you after being so brilliant in there?"

"Sand!" That was rather out of character for him. "I was merely asking so…"

"It is time." There was one of Nasher's guards at the door, looking at us impassively, holding his halberd. "The court has assembled and ready again."

"We are ready." Sand swept his armful of papers up and glanced at me with one of his haughtier moon-elf expressions. "Squire Pendwyr, if you will…?"

"Sure." That knot in my stomach was back again. _What _did I say that set him off so?

The courtroom was quiet as we filed in, eyes all on us and the Luskan ambassador as we took out places once again.

"The accused now may present their witnesses." Oleff's voice had the same stern, unyielding tone as all though the proceeding, and so was the look on his face. "Is the counsel of the accused prepared to give his statement?"

Sand smoothed down the collar of his robe, _an unusually nervous gesture_, I thought, then moved forward and bowed towards the dais.

"Thank you, Reverend Judge, Lord Nasher, and fine people of Neverwinter. These allegations are a farce, my lord. I mean to show you the innocence of this woman - a squire of Neverwinter - and the falsehood of the accusations against her." He paused, directing a cold glance towards Torio who sat straight, looking ahead, with a slight smile on her lips. "The evidence of the ambassador from Luskan is a transparent, ill-conceived ploy to destroy the life of one of Neverwinter's loyal servants." A rather strong start; I knew he worked on that speech a long time. On our way back from Port Llast, I heard him through the cabin wall practicing.

"Objection!" Torio jumped up from her seat. "The accused has only been a 'squire' for a short time, conveniently promoted _after _the massacre of the people of Ember." She tilted her head sideways, that smile still on her face. "Perhaps as a reward?"

_Well, there. If I had any feelings that she might have already admitted defeat now those all would have gone out the window. This woman will not go down without a considerable amount of kicking and screaming._

I could see Sand opening his mouth to answer her, but I saw Lord Nasher, leaning forward and speak up, shooting an icy glare towards the Luskan ambassador.  
"Ambassador, you have had your say. Now it is time for the accused to speak. "He then sighed and looked at Sand. "And as for you, Sand, I would refrain from such accusations without first presenting proof. "

Sand shrugged, rather nonchalantly.

"My lord, the difference is, in _my_ statements can be found the truth." Yes, he was deliberately goading Torio, and having way too much fun doing it too, if the self-satisfied smirk in the corner of his mouth was any indication. He bowed again, and announced. "With your leave, for our first witness I summon Callum of the Neverwinter Nine... fresh from his victory over the vicious orc tribes in Old Owl Well."

Amidst a slight murmur from the audience, Callum rose from his seat in the first row on the floor and took the witness stand. As past of the Nine, he, as a sign of his rank, wore his weapon openly on his belt.

"Lord Callum, none can doubt your service and loyalty to Neverwinter, your successful defense of our sovereign lands. " Callum inclined his head slightly, acknowledging Sand's praise. "You have met the accused before, have you not?"

I couldn't help but blush slightly as I caught a wink from Callum's gray eyes. Yes, he probably remembered me as the most unusual paladin he's ever met. Old dented armor covered by a cape of the City Watch, slight brogue and a dwarf, and elf, a tiefling and a gnome as companions, demanding to see his maps of the surrounding mountains so we can search for Issani, ambassador of Waterdeep.

"She was a great help to me in defeating the orc bands at Old Owl Well in earlier months." he said now, in his deep voice, used to booming commands across his fortified camp. "Were it not for her assistance, the well would now be held by the orcs." He shook his head angrily. "The soldiers of Neverwinter and the realm itself owe a deep debt of gratitude to her, and it is a travesty that these foul charges have been levied against her."

Sand nodded.

"Thank you, Lord Callum. We are ever grateful to hear the words of one of the Nine."

"May I cross examine the witness, Reverend Judge?" Torio asked, still that small smile on her lips.

"It is allowed." Oleff nodded.

"Lord Callum." Torio started, with just the barest of nods. "I have heard you express that the charges in this court are a "travesty," and that they are unwarranted. Did I hear you right? "

"That is true. " Callum was never one for hiding his emotions. His distaste was plain on his face as he regarded the ambassador now. Then again, it might have been that gown she was wearing. Besides being hideous, from the price of the fur on her cape alone Callum would have been able to feed his garrison for a month. "I feel the charges are unfounded. "

"Is it because they are given by Luskan? "Torio asked, quickly.

"Luskan has much to gain by casting down heroes of Neverwinter." Callum sounded irritated. "Do I trust that Luskan brings such charges in good faith? I do not, nor do I trust your motives, Ambassador." I felt Sand tensing beside me, and I thought I understood the reason for it. Having an overly biased character witness who was unable to keep his impartiality and his cool around him might possibly hurt our case, and the dwarven member of the Nine was always prone to quick judgment and action. "There is a reason that low justice and high justice were divided by the Luskan-Neverwinter treaty, and I do not believe that any Luskan court or advocate has justice on their mind."

Torio bent forward, resting her forearms on her desk, and that smile on her lips became a full- out snarl now.

"Oh. But... you _do _know that the voice of the accused's counsel is from Luskan, do you not?" She paused delicately. "From the ranks of the Hosttower of the Arcane before he fled?"

Those cold claws around my heart were back.

_I see. So that's what he was hiding._

And to think that I was concerned about how Torio might dig up Casavir's past, all the while being completely oblivious to how my own counsel…

"That _banshee_...!" Sand said under his breath, with a slight break in his normally so cool and composed voice.

"_Remember: do not judge unless you have the facts in your hands."_ I heard Aevan's rumbling basso from years' distance. That was one of the first lessons he taught me, applicable to a lot of different situations in life.

"No, I did not. " Callum said, with surprise, and as he paused, I cut in, hoping my voice sounded sufficiently calm.

"Objection, Reverend Judge. The history of my counsel nor the origin of the charges against me have no bearing on this case – it is Ember that concerns us."

Callum looked at me, his eyes widening a bit as he took in the marks around my eyes, then visibly shook himself and nodded.

"I agree." His voice lost its accusing tone; instead, it took on warmer, more compassionate tones. "This matter concerns Ember... and whether the accused, who has sacrificed for Neverwinter on many occasions, merits such accusations. The origin of such charges…" and here he shot a warning look at Torio, " –or slander on the counsel of the accused— has no bearing on the crime itself." He bowed slightly towards Oleff and Nasher. "I misspoke, but the Ambassador's behavior only grants support to my words. " He turned towards me. "If there is nothing else...? I think we have all wasted enough time here."

I saw Nevalle leaning back in his chair in the first row, with a little grin on his face, shaking his head: the Captain of the Nine was clearly amused by his companion's behavior.

"I thank Lord Callum for his time, Reverend Judge, my questions have been answered to my satisfaction." Well, that was a clear attempt by Torio to salvage her face; she pursed her lips watching Callum taking his seat again, with obvious dissatisfaction.

"The accused now calls Nya, resident of Port Llast." Sand called out, before I had a chance to say anything. I sighed inward: I understood it, but I didn't have to like it. Right now, our main goal was to get me out of here, declared innocent of all charges. After that happened, we can start having conversations about that little revelation about his past… To tell the truth, however, I found that in my heart of hearts, I didn't really care. Sand proved himself a true companion, even a strange kind of friend, during our association in the past weeks, and I was much more inclined to judge him based on his actions that on his past.

Nya looked different in her official robes that showed she graduated from the Academy in Blacklake. I recognized the marks on the sleeves, and I noticed that Sand looked at her a bit less haughtily, too.

"Nya, you encountered the accused in Port Llast, did you not?" he asked, in a considerably milder tone that he ever used with her earlier.

"That's correct." Nya answered primly. "I remember the accused well." She smiled a little tense smile at me, and I found myself returning the gesture. The scent of her robes was jasmine and sandalwood this time, calming and centering.

"Well met again, Nya." I said, dipping my head.

"And well met to you. It is good to see your face again." She always was so formal; now, seeing her wearing the robes of the Academy, I understood the reasons for it a bit better.

"Could you tell us what happened?" Sand prompted.

"I have been at Port Llast for the past season to help fortify the town's defense. Though my duties occupied all of my time, I was concerned about the unburied bodies in Ember." She took a deep breath. "I knew from a... former acquaintance - a follower of Kelemvor, that after dying such violent deaths, it was possible they could arise as undead." There was a slight murmur up on the gallery; I stole a glance at Judge Oleff, and I saw him nod grimly, confirming what Casavir and I discussed while our gruesome task was carried out on that cool Uktar day. "But I could not see to them, and could not convince anyone to help, until the good squire came."

"And what did she do?" Sand asked again

"The squire agreed to put the dead to eternal rest." Nya looked at me. "She and her companions buried all the dead with the proper funeral rites and prayers."

"To hide the evidence, perhaps?" Torio cut in, shaking her head. "This is meaningless. "

Cold fury rose in me hearing her remark.

"It pains me to hear you make light of such an important task, Ambassador." I saw her flinch a little; in front of my other Sight, the black tentacles clutching at her heart shrank away from my gaze what, in the other realms, was a searing white-silver ray of light. "That comment is offensive to my faith - and disrespectful to the dead of Ember."

"I meant no offense - to your faith, or to Tyr himself." She avoided looking into my eyes, frowning; as if she all of a sudden encountered some emotion long buried she did not even know existed. "I seek only the truth in this case, not to speak of the dead with harsh words."

"Then see that your words match your intent, Ambassador." Oleff spoke with stern face: that comment hit him as well, as priest of the Even-Handed.

"If I may?" Nya spoke up again, and Oleff nodded towards her. "I just have to add: the squire undertook all of this of her own volition and at her own expense. I have met some travelers who took the roads since the massacre happened, and they brought news about the peace that lingers where Ember used to be. It is a sad place, but it is not haunted. And there is no doubt in my heart that it would not be so, had she not gone there with her companions. We are all in her debt for that."

"Thank you, Nya." I said quietly. "I only did what my heart compelled me to do."

I knew there was no shadow on her heart now: the smile she flashed at me when she left the stand was genuine and open, and I knew that when she returned to Port Llast, she would be at peace at last with her past and her present. I hoped to see her again.

It seemed it was the section for character witnesses; Sand rubbed his hands together and spoke up as soon as Nya left the hall.

"With your leave, Reverend Judge, I shall call our next witness. Shandra Jerro. Shandra, please come forward."

"So how did you get her to testify?" I asked him in a whisper, seeing Shandra threading her way slowly amongst the rows of nobles, acutely aware of all the eyes on her. "She really was quite paralyzed by the mere prospect, she told me yesterday."

Sand's shrug was speaking volumes, as always.

"My dear, I just told her to do it if she wished to see Ember avenged." He paused, then looking at me from the corner of his eyes, murmured in a lot different voice, almost shyly. "I believe this is one of those times when the actions of one can change the course of a nation. "

I remembered, then, what he said back in Port Llast in front of the fire in the Alliance Arms. _"If you have ever been ruined by politics, you know that at some point, one must make a stand, or else more will fall. Call this my stand, if you will. Sand, the Dockside charlatan, against the plotting of Luskan to rule the North…" _–and the truth in them hit me even stronger, now that I knew where he ran from.

"Thank you, Sand." I said quietly, and smiled at him with the warmth I could not allow myself to feel towards him until now.

He looked away, and I swear I saw a slight flush on his cheeks. That was new, too—it made me realize he could not have heard too many words of kindness during the centuries of his life.

"This is for Ember…" I whispered; Sand cleared his throat and stood up, and the moment of strange tenderness was gone.

"Shandra, you know the accused, have traveled with her, have you not?" It seemed that was an almost standard opening; Torio asked something similar from Casavir earlier.

Shandra was standing there in a meticulously pressed white lacey blouse-striped skirt and bodice outfit that looked charming, harmless and utterly non-threatening. Whoever chose those clothes for her wanted to emphasize that this person was not capable of violence in any shape or form. As I clearly recalled several instances when she very, very violently removed body parts from various creatures, including one rather unfortunate dryad, I concentrated on not breaking out in giggles.

"I have." There was a slight hesitation in Shandra's voice, as if she wasn't quite sure where this was going.

"And this crime of which she is accused? " Sand raised his voice. "As one who knew the people of Ember... of Port Llast... do you really think her capable of such a crime?"

He _was _good, that haughty moon elf…

Shandra shook her head with such vehemence that she sent her white-gold locks flying.

"No, not at all!" She smirked: that was so typically her that I couldn't resist a smile myself. "Look... don't get me wrong - trouble seems to come at her heels. After all, as the Ambassador didn't miss the opportunity to mention, I've lost everything I owned shortly after I've met her, albeit through no fault of her own." _Clever girl_, I thought, _this way Torio cannot get back to that point again_. There were some chuckles in the audience.

Shandra's eyes softened.

"But... it's how she deals with those troubles that makes me say no. I've seen her in Ember, saw her face when we buried the dead. I saw her holding the mangled body of a three-year old child and tears coming down her cheeks. I heard her crying at night, having nightmares for weeks after that place, and I heard her to swear to Lord Tyr to see justice being done on those who committed those crimes. She... well, she keeps trying to make things right, even when things are at their worst. Whether it's giving home to orphans who are running loose at the Docks and being abused by thugs, cleaning orcs out of the mountains so farmers can sleep better at night, or stopping shadowy cultists from getting hold of our children's hearts and minds—she is willing to shoulder the burden and have her god guide her hands to do _right_. "She grew serious. "And it's really hard not to admire that. And stick by it, no matter what. "

"I think that says it all, Shandra, thank you." Sand looked and sounded smug as Torio just waved her hand with an irritated expression on her face—no, she did not have questions to the rustic farm girl with the odd turn of phrase or two.

I flashed a smile at Shandra as she walked off the stand, and caught her wink at me. Her speech was compassionate and inspired, and she had true conviction and genuine warmth in it. I could see on many people's faces that it had a real impact on the audience. I didn't have to peer up to the gallery to see Duncan's beaming face to know that he was proud of her, too. Considering how our friendship started, we indeed came a long way from her calling me 'the paladin who travels with the circus'…

Sand cleared his throat and stood up as Shandra left the hall—I suspected it was time for our star witness to make his appearance.

"Reverend Judge, Lord Nasher, and all assembled, we would like now to call our last witness." the elf started in a clear and strong voice. "I realize that this is difficult to believe, but unknown to all, there was _another _survivor of the Ember massacre. "

We had their attention now. The polite boredom on the floor and the little whispers on the gallery all ceased now; what we couldn't get with Nya's quiet reassurance or Shandra's country cockiness, we had now with the possible sensation of another eyewitness who might recount the horrors of that day. I had to hide a frown: yes, this was theater indeed. How quickly did the mood change!

And Sand played it masterfully indeed, with his raised voice and opened arms.

"His name is Marcus: a poor, frightened boy, who had to hide in a _well_ to prevent being slaughtered." As if on a cue (and knowing Sand this was probably the case) the side door to the smaller wait room for witnesses opened and between two full-mail-clad Palace Guards came Marcus, in blue jacket and trousers, cheeks scrubbed, hand combed, frame still gaunt from the tendays' stay in that well.

Sand surveyed the audience: _now _they were hanging onto his every word. I leaned back a bit, hands in my lap, watching Marcus take the stand calmly, looking around for a second. I saw Judge Oleff tense: he felt the otherness that emanated from the boy, too… I sighed inward, hoping this meant we had an easier time asking permission for Marcus to be taken amongst the Orphans of Tyr.

"Now, of course, you could ask, fine citizens of Neverwinter: how did he know to do such a thing?" Sand continued his oration; I saw him assuming the same classic pose he taught me to recognize. "Why, Marcus has a gift... a gift of sight beyond sight - the gift of a seer. And he knew the murder would happen and the _true_ identity of the killer."

Ah, how they watched! Almost as one, everyone in the audience leaned forward. Torio slowly, very slowly put down the sheaf or paper she was reading, and studied the boy in front of her with an expression on her face that was between disbelief, distaste and outright loathing.

"Tell us what you saw, young Marcus... what you saw with your special gift." Sand prompted.

He was still so fragile; you could almost see his collarbones poking through his tunic when he shrugged.

"It was a huge man that killed the village. I don't know how you could confuse him with her. They don't look anything alike." The certainty with which he said those words was in sharp contrast with the tinny child's voice. "Maybe he used a magic disguise... but disguises like that don't fool me." His gaze found Oleff's and I saw the High Justiciar of Tyr take a sharp breath.

"What is this, a joke?" Torio's derisive snort broke the spell that Marcus seemingly had on the entire hall. "You bring a child "seer" onto the stand, ask him a question, and then have him lie for you?"

"Do you have a question for Marcus or not, Ambassador?" I growled. Sand's hand was blessedly cool on my forearm. I hoped the Luskan bitch took the bait again.

"Of course I do. If he has the power of a seer, then let us test it."_ Yes, she did_. I forced myself to show nothing but coldness on my face as she turned to Marcus, standing up, hands behind her back, rocking on those high heels of hers again, like a snake about to strike. "Marcus, what do I hold in my left hand?"

The boy tilted his head sideways as he regarded Torio calmly. I think I could hear almost everyone in the hall taking a breath at the same time when he started to speak in an eerie, drifting tone, as if concentrating on something off in a distance.

"Your left hand holds an iron ring, the ring of Garius, the Master of the Fifth Tower. You hold it tightly; as if afraid it will fly from you. " Torio took a step backward, and I saw just about every drop of blood run out of her face. "Every time you touch the ring, you see how angry he becomes when one fails him, and you fear his ambition... it is a ring that is more of a chain than a piece of jewelry. And even more so, the ring reminds you of…"

"Enough! " Torio cried out, in a strangely broken voice. She turned away for a second, hair hanging limply in her face as she did so. She lifted a hand in an awkward, almost broken movement to smooth it back in place. "No more questions - it is a ring, nothing more, but the boy guessed correctly. A parlor trick, surely, but the rest is lies, of that be assured. " She stared at her pile of papers as if she saw them for the first time, shook her head, and looked at Oleff. "No more… questions, Reverend Judge." she said in a voice that I almost didn't recognize. It must have been her original timbre, from years and years ago. Prompted by that voice I _Looked_ at her again, and for a second I saw a young girl standing on a corner in a harbor, amidst the stink of unwashed bodies, smell of seawater and cheap perfume, herself smelling only of soap, curiosity, sun and innocence, smoothing her short chestnut hair back behind her ear with a defiant move. It was a fleeting vision and then was gone; the bars of that thick, seething tentacle-cage of evil were back around her heart and soul again and there was no tenderness or innocence in her eyes as she looked back at me. There was only snarling hatred.

She was not down yet, far from it.

"Well, here we go, dear girl…" Sand said, sitting back down, looking at Oleff and Nasher. "We are done."

"I know we are." I nodded and felt a strange calm descending on me, rising at the same time from inside of me and from above--my silver and crimson power and the white rustling wings started to beat the same rhythm again, that of the battle hymn:

_Darkness has no hold/ Shadow has no power/When your might enfolds/ All evil will cower…_

"The parties have spoken, now all that remains is judgment to be passed. " The High Justiciar stood up and the way the power of the god radiated off him was so obvious to my sight that I heard the air come out between my teeth in an awed hiss. He was powerful indeed. "Lord Nasher?"

"I expect Lord Nasher has already come to the correct decision." snapped Torio suddenly, with a smile on her face that yet again reminded me of a snake.

"Oh, _I _certainly hope so - it's evident this was a conspiracy to frame a loyal squire of Neverwinter as a criminal of the worst sort." quipped Sand, perhaps a bit too wittily, because Nasher's voice was almost a bellow from his dais as he bore down on both of them.

"Silence, Sand! I have heard enough from you - and from you, Torio. And it is enough for me to reach a decision. "

The lord of Neverwinter let his gaze sweep around in the hall; in its wake, hushed silence arrived, so palpable that it had a force of its own. Nasher's emerald eyes, somehow to my surprise, focused on Casavir, sitting straight and unmoving in the second row. "The case before me was a difficult one... but it seems we know now the identity of Ember's attackers. "

I caught an almost imperceptible nod from Casavir. I felt a faint sense of disquiet, but had no time to dwell on it, as Nasher now lifted a hand and beckoned the Captain of the Nine to him.

"Nevalle, I want the ambassador, her retinue, and any remaining members of the Arcane Brotherhood of Luskan outside the city gates by nightfall."

The cheering that erupted shook the stained glass windows in their frames. People were grinning ear to ear; I saw Neeshka on the gallery hug Khelgar and then pull away and look around as if nothing have happened, while Bishop clapped Grobnar in the back with such a force that the little gnome almost fell forward. Sir Grayson had one of his heartwarming smiles on, twirling his moustache and accepting a handshake from Lord Bryce as is befitting of a knight whose squire just been declared innocent.

Sand looked at me with a quirked eyebrow.

"Well, dear girl… I hope that's what you were looking for, yes?"

Before I could speak, the Luskan ambassador's shrill voice cut through the sounds of celebration.

"What?" Torio stood with feet slightly apart, glaring at Nasher like he'd just issued a challenge. "This is no verdict! To think the Brotherhood truly responsible…"

_Something is wrong_…It inserted itself in my mind like a splinter, like a sound of discord in the chorus of jubilation. _Something is wrong…watch out!_ I _Looked_ around the hall, but it was a cacophony of emotions, a riot of colors and a massive swirl of auras—I could not discern any patterns. Besides, the feeling was not like I sometimes got right before an ambush—this was concentrated on the small desk where Torio Claven stood.

"You brought this case before me - now you debate my verdict?" Nasher slowly rose from his throne; his wide shoulders bunching up with fury similarly to the movement I learned to recognize from Casavir. His voice was clear and angry. "I would be careful of where you point a sword when you draw it, Ambassador - and remind your masters in Luskan of that as well." He turned to Oleff, right hand waved in dismissal. "I think we've wasted enough time on this, Lord High Justiciar. Justice has been done, an-"

"I claim the right of trial by combat!" Torio cried out, lips pulling back from her teeth. For a second, it was as if someone else looked out from her eyes—someone cold, calculating, vastly powerful and hungry. Hungry for power, hungry for blood…

Then the meaning of her words slammed into me, and I almost fell back to my chair, grabbing the desk for support.

"Ambassador, I am _tired_ of your games, and I will indulge you no longer."

The Luskan woman was looking smug: she, or that _other_ behind her eyes liked this. She licked her lips before speaking—and I felt chilled as black, thick menace coiled towards me for a moment, attempting to touch me.

"In a matter of such importance, you would deny me my sacred right of appeal?" Torio purred. She addressed her words to Oleff but looking unmistakably towards where Casavir sat as if he was made of stone. I couldn't even imagine how he felt now—another trial by combat he had to witness; and I knew Torio knew it too, hence the look. "Can Lord Nasher do that, Reverend Judge? Can he put himself above our god Tyr in this matter?"

The High Justiciar shook his head wearily, as if answering Nasher's incredulous look shot at him. The Ruler of Neverwinter sat back heavily to his throne.

"He... cannot. The ambassador from Luskan is entitled to an appeal as she describes."

"Oh gods." came the distressed sigh next to me. Sand put a hand in front of his eyes a second. "I was hoping she didn't know about it."

"She planned this all along, Sand." I was sure of it now. I sat straight, feeling the god's marks on my face and shoulders heating up with the certainty of Truth. "This is what they wanted all along." My eyes roamed the hall, trying to find a familiar shape I knew _had_ to be there somewhere. "The entire trial was a farce and utter mockery and slap in Tyr's face."

"What are you talking about?" Sand whispered angrily. "This cannot…"

I waved him down, the certainly growing in me, like the heat building in the birthmarks on my shoulders.

"And who will fight for you, Torio?" Sir Nevalle, Captain of the Nine stood, his eyes ablaze, hand on his sword, openly furious. "This is no battle with words, though I would like to see you try to match your wit against the blade of a true soldier of Neverwinter."

"Indeed, you are correct, Sir Nevalle." Torio bowed her head with false frailty. I could feel my hands clenching into fists. I was still trying to peer into the shadows in the galleries, behind the pillars of the hall's floor—I could feel him approaching, his presence prickling my skin like the feel of approaching storms in Midsummer.

"Luskan is not the aggressor here, and I only wish to see justice done." Torio continued; and I understood anew Sand's warning about this court being her theater. "But I cannot defend myself and seek justice in this matter... is there not one who will champion the people of Ember?" She looked around in the hall where everyone fell silent again.

I would have recognized him even if his presence hasn't pricked goose bumps on my skin with the cold and dreadful touch of death. I recognized him despite the hooded cloak he huddled under all this time in the shades of a pillar on the main floor of the hall. Now casually striding forward, he threw the hood back so that the light streaming through the windows gleamed from his shaved head, and his tattoos crawled over his cheeks and neck as if they were alive.

"I will." Lorne Starling, the Butcher of Ember, once of West Harbor, walked past the rows of Neverwinter's finest, and in his wake he brought fires, screams and darkness, memory of the night of death when every single inhabitant of a community was wiped out of existence methodically and without emotions.

He stopped in front of Nasher's dais, chin jutting forward, dark eyes gleaming with banked fires of blood and steel, and I felt whispering all around me again, like back in that fire-gutted shell of a house in Ember. The ghosts of the murdered children of Ember followed him and now repeated their pleas in my ears, increasing the volume of their ghost-cries until they almost drowned out Lorne's declaration.

_Speak for all of us…Help us to find rest…Help us to find home… Help so we will not be forgotten._

"I have listened to these lies, and will answer them - with my blade, in Luskan's name!" Lorne's booming voice rang out.

I was on my feet before anyone else could speak. I knew that the god's marks were at full blaze on my face as I looked at him, and I drew my silver fire around me like a cloak before speaking in a voice that was my own, and yet wasn't.

"I swore to seek justice for those murdered in Ember, and so I swear anew now. So witness sky, so witness earth. So help me Tyr: Lorne Starling, Butcher of Ember, I _will_ bring you to justice."


	31. Answer

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections. It really helps me to get better, so please feel free to leave a review. Thanks for all of those who have already done so—you guys are great!**

**There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things. Ah, and there was one wet paladin with a towel on. Hence the M rating so far.**

**For this chapter I used four songs from four amazing female singers_: O Felix _from Azam Ali's _Portals of Grace, Psallit in Aure Dei _from Lisa Gerrard and Patrick Cassidy's_ Immortal Memory, Ancient Pines _from Loreena McKenitt's _Parallel Dreams_ and _Answer _from Sarah McLachlan's _Afterglow. _The last one is really a key song to the entire story and helped me tremendously to entangle the relationship between Casavir and Arrighan.**

**And, as always, I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… Arrighan is entirely my fault, though.**

**Chapter Thirty-One: Answer**

"Are you ready for the Rites of Tyr?" Prior Hlam stood in the door of the chamber, looking at me with his usual serene expression.

I just nodded, wordlessly. Somehow it felt fitting to keep the silence that was my companion since I uttered those words of oath again in the Great Hall of Castle Never. The power of that descended on me with such force that it literally rendered me dumb.

"_Leave her be." Oleff told Sand as I wasn't reacting to his increasingly louder questions once Nasher proclaimed that the Rites will be held at the tourney fields in the morrow and that both champions should spend the night at the Temple of Justice according to tradition. When the Lord of Neverwinter left the Hall, the High Justiciar walked down the dais and to our desk. "The power of the god was on her, and she might well be silent for all the remainder of the day." His touch on my arm was blessedly cool; I felt like I was about to burn up. "Shall we take you to the Temple, Child?"_

_I nodded. Sand slipped an arm into mine and followed Oleff, hiding his nervousness under his professional demanor. Truth to tell, I barely had memories of this, only vague sensations; Oleff's cool touch, the sound of Sand's robes swishing around his ankles, the way the crowd on the floor parted in front of us like they were cut with a blade; an infinitely sorrowful and understanding pair of azure eyes regarding me as I passed Casavir…_

The acolyte, who led me to this room and assisted me with shedding my gown and donning the ashen grey robe of a supplicant barely said a word to me the whole time. When Prior Hlam knocked, she whispered to me shyly.

"He was up all night praying for you, and while your Trial lasted, too…" Then she flushed bright red as if she got embarrassed by her own boldness of speaking to me, a gods-touched… and stood aside, eyes downcast watching us leave.

"She already got the chapel ready for your vigil and your resting there, and will make sure your armor and weapons are ready by the morrow." Hlam explained to me as we walked through the corridors of the chapterhouse to the Temple proper. "The Rites of Tyr before a trial by combat do not require an all-night vigil, so a pallet is set up in the chapel for you if sleep comes to you. The Rites are for the purification of one's mind and reflecting on one's deeds, not for self-mortification on the eve of a deadly fight. "He paused, regarding me with his steel-gray gaze. "Sometimes it also allows one to achieve the clarity needed to avoid bloodshed in a trial by combat by admitting one's guilt... although I do not believe that will happen this night." He sighed. "As you know, your opponent is also holding his vigil in another chapel, and I assigned two brothers to insure you two will not meet. The Temple is huge, and the chapel you will spend your vigil in is at opposite ends to the one we decided Lorne Starling should be directed to."

I nodded in assent, drawing the grey cloak closer at my neck and pulling up the cowl over my head to hide my face. It was still early enough that there was considerable traffic on the corridors of the chapterhouse, and my last desire was to get novices, acolytes and full members of the order alike to stare at my runes-etched face as if I was some kind of holy person.

Hlam noticed my gesture.

"We do have some… means of deciphering those… ah… marks. Our library is at your perusal at any time after tomorrow, Sister." He used the formal styling of a member of the order, almost the first time since we knew each other. "Some of those look familiar… it is a variation on the oldest script some of the angelology texts describe. I myself am not a scholar, but I believe the High Justiciar has acquired some tomes during his last visit to Waterdeep that might be of help." I nodded again, looking at him sideways from under my hood, and smiled.

"You will be in the Chapel of Our Lord's Suffering for the Justly Saved." he said, somehow gruffly, as if he was trying to hide some emotion. He cleared his throat. "You are… well familiar with that one already, and it seemed fitting that you spend the night close to that aspect of Our Lord."

Indeed it was. Something heavy I did not quite realize I had in my chest eased and I found that I could speak again.

"Thank you." The words came out hoarse, as if my throat had been parched dry by the lack of water… and I had to remember that indeed, I did not have anything to drink since that coffee in the waiting room. "That is… perfect."

"I am glad." We arrived to the door which led from the chapterhouse to the church proper. As we stepped through into the quietness of the aisle, my ears picked up on some commotion from the narthex.

"That's unusual this time of the day." Hlam's eyebrows went up. "We are not normally get the loud, obnoxious or drunk ones until…" His eyes went wide. "Ah. I believe this visitor would be for you, Sister."

I looked towards the entrance, and although I did not mean to, I felt my mouth twitching into an incredulous grin.

"Well, let me in, ye bunch of morons!" yelled Khelgar again, so loud that some of the acolytes actually stepped back from the vehemence of it. "I do know what's going on here, 'course I do, that's why I'm here!"

He was like a force of nature: spotting me and Hlam amongst the pillars, he dove in amongst the lanky acolytes and, slightly concussing one of them, charged towards us.

"But it can wait! I haven't had my say yet!"

"What… are you doing here?" I still did not gain my full voice back, so first I didn't think he heard me. But then he stopped right in front of us, glared at me with that fierce determination I first saw in his eyes after we fought the githyanki warband in that little inn in the Mere, and I realized I couldn't turn him away.

"Why am I here, she asks?!" He stomped, the words rushing out of him like a river breaking its dam at last. "Well, it's because I want to take your place. That... Torio," he almost spat the name, "she's got you matched up with a trained killer! That's an assassin, if I've ever seen one, or my name isn't Ironfist! There's no justice in that viper suddenly bringing a bear out of nowhere to fight you!" He lowered his voice a bit. "Let _me _fight him, Little Sister." He used the name he's given me in mockery first, but which, nevertheless, testified the bond between us more than anything else could.

He continued after a small hesitation; I was sure he thought for a second about where he was and checked himself before he started to fling curses around.

"That Lorne's a... a... dog, not even worthy of you - he fights like a Luskan fights, through daggers in the back - poisoned daggers even!"

"He's no Luskan, Elder Brother." I also used the name I took to calling him on that long road leading this city, and which, as he told me, was traditional address amongst Ironfist dwarves. It was a very formal clan, his, apparently. "He's a Harborman, like me." I felt the sadness envelop me now that the god's power was gone. "Something, someone did this to him, and now…" I looked at Khelgar again and saw that he was almost trembling. "You are very upset, Elder Brother…why?"

"Ah…" He stammered, visibly shaken by my words about Lorne's origins. "Because it's not fair, that's why! I don't mind a fight for fight's sake, but this "crime" they've accused you of, the slaughter of an entire village... And to fight one of your own, twisted into such a monster… It's _more _than just a fight... It's…"

"You feel it is unjust. " Hlam interjected in a calm, even voice.

"You're damned right it's unjust!" Khelgar was furious again. "This isn't just a fight, by the Gods, this is honor, and fairness, and the lives of you and those people of Ember who were slaughtered!" He went on, almost snarling. "After _all _you went through, all the searching for clues and those poor villagers... to lay it all on your head... by the Gods, I _want _to fight him! I'll show him _justice_! "

He stopped, panting, and as he did so, I could clearly see the silver sparks radiating off his aura. He was…touched by Tyr; I recognized the signs.

"You are allowed to choose a champion." Hlam said quietly. "Do you wish this one to take your place?"

I leaned forward and put a hand of Khelgar's shoulder.  
"Elder Brother…" I started, and let the cowl of the cloak slid back from my face. "I…thank you for your offer. It means a lot to me. But Tyr commands me to do this." My other hand brushed the god's marks around my eyes. "I am… marked now, even more than I was before, and cannot stand aside."

He looked at me with narrowed eyes, taking in the changes on my face. Finally, he grunted.

"All right... I can see ye have a task set for ye. I can't argue against Tyr's will now, can I? "He inclined his head towards me. "There's power in those, I can feel it. "He shuddered, and I caught Hlam looking at him oddly. "Well... look. That Lorne fellow, he…" He tugged on his beard, "…he is dangerous... so... just... be careful. "

"I will try, Elder Brother." I clasped his shoulder. "And thank you. Your offer to fight in my stead honors me deeply." I bowed, and he returned the gesture.

"And don't forget that move I showed ye." he said gruffly, turning back after taking a couple of steps. "He is bigger than you…he might knock ye down, and then jes' remember that weak spot. I doubt he's armored _there_." He snorted. "Somehow I don't think licking his nose if he falls on ye would accomplish anything."

"He might have the makings of a monk about him after all." Hlam said thoughtfully as we watched Khelgar stomping out. "I need to talk to him soon about the trials I set for him, I believe. And you will have to explain to me that nose-licking comment one of these days, Sister." he added as he opened the door to the chapel and escorted me in.

There were fresh candles in the large wrought silver candelabra, and the tinderbox was set next to the incense holder on the altar as well. In the corner, one of those straw mats with a gray woolen blanket waited for my night's rest. It was quiet, smelling of the god's incense, and all of it was like the touch of cool water on my forehead. I still felt like burning up.

"Here you will remain until we come for you in the morning." Hlam said quietly. "Gaze upon the face of Tyr, and let him gaze upon you. "He intoned the words in a way that I knew they were part of the centuries-old Rites. "If you are true to your word and deeds, then you need not fear his judgment." He lifted a hand in benediction over my head, and added. "You are permitted visitors during this time, Sister, and the privacy spell on the door will let them through. Often, justice does not solely lie in words and deeds, and you may gain truth from the words of those closest to you."

"Yes, Father Prior…"I whispered. "Thank you." I didn't know anything about the Rites, despite me being a paladin, and for a sudden moment the rift between the formally trained grizzled warrior with his drooping mustache and me in my gray tunic and trews seemed as wide as a chasm. I felt the lack of my tutor as keenly as at that first time he hasn't shown up at West Harbor, and struggled to keep my composure as Hlam walked out the chapel, closing the wrought iron door behind him with a small creak. A weak shimmering heralded that he erected the privacy curtain-spell that insured that no one intruded on me or heard anything said inside, while keeping the noises of the Temple out. The life outside had to go on—they had worshipers, embassies, other judgments, services and such all scheduled or unscheduled today—Neverwinter's Temple of the Even-Handed was a bustling place of worship.

The silence enfolded around me like two great wings. I unclasped the cloak from my shoulders and placed it, neatly folded, on the sleeping mat in the corner, next to my shoes. I rinsed my hands in the sacred basin at the door, and drying my palms on my tunic, started to light the candles and incense. While doing it, I realized that this was actually the first time since I woke up this morning that I was completely alone…and, in fact, in these past days, apart from the times when I was asleep, I had very little solitude. I guess it must have been Daeghun's influence on me—but occasionally I craved being alone, the way I needed my morning coffee, and especially today just took too much out of me again.

So after I lit all the candles so soft, gold light filled the chapel, reflecting off the silver-wrought image of the god's battles and His almost life-size statue, I kneeled into the pew, lowered my head on my folded hands and allowed myself to shake and shiver with the tension I kept in check in me for quite a while now. I figured Tyr would understand—I was a mortal vessel, after all, and today He used me heavily. The feeling reminded me when I got sick as a kid--the swamp fever Daeghun cured with an awfully bitter tea made out of willow-bark. Everyone thought I was going to die, apparently, as most of the children who got it did, but I pulled through. Aevan told me later is was probably the celestial blood in me.

I am not sure how long I was that way, sweat drenching my body and feeling like I was about to burst into flames as the tension and the remainder of divine influence leaked out of me and my mind slowly, reluctantly eased back to normal. The slight change in the air raised me from that quiet, blue-tinged place my prayers usually took me. I raised my head and opened my eyes: Sand was standing in the open door, tilting his head to the side.

"Quiet enough for you, dear girl?" He chuckled on his own joke and invited himself in, clicking the wrought iron door closed behind him. The spells shimmered back into existence; he clicked his tongue appreciatively.

"Nice smooth spellwork, I have to admit. Holy magic can be impressive if done right--it has tendencies to be flashy, but effective."

I shook my head at that: I had the exact same opinion about arcane magics and I told so quite a number of times to our village wizard, too.

"So… after all that ranting by Khelgar, I trust you are feeling better?" he flashed a smile, brilliant and white, but yet, strangely nervous. "I heard him several streets away as he stormed out, it actually helped me to remember where the side entrance was."

"Sand." I rose from the pew and turned towards him. My fatigue was gone, but with it gone, a lot of my usual tactlessness crept back. "You are being overly sarcastic and that means something troubles you."

"Oh, I just hope you don't mind if I come in here, disturb your prayers and start to speak my mind; otherwise…"

"Sand." I said again, more exasperated this time. "What _is _on your mind?"

" Ah. " He looked around. "I must say, this is a rather tastefully decorated chapel, my dear… you really should see some of the things the overly faithful can do in some Mystra temples, really… All right, all right. I can see you are not for any tension-relieving social chatter today." he added, lifting a hand. "Frankly, then, I didn't expect that we would be able to force Torio's hand like this - trial by combat is a rather desperate maneuver, quite unlike her. " he shrugged. "It's really rather quite pleasing. And if you were to beat Lorne... well, that would make me simply ecstatic." He came closer and, casting a somehow cautious glance to the altar, lowered his voice. "I could help, you know."

"You already helped, Sand, don't be…" I broke off, lifted my head and really _Looked _at him. "You want to give me more because you think I hate you now for what Torio disclosed about your past in Luskan, don't you?"

He squirmed under my gaze, but didn't turn away.

"You know that I would welcome any help you can provide, as long as it is within the rules of the duel. " I nodded towards the altar. "It can hardly be otherwise."

"Here, take this." Sand pulled out a few tiny bottles from the depth of his robe--I still wasn't sure whether at least one of those pockets he had wasn't an inter-dimensional portal. After hearing today that he was once an actual ranking Hosttower mage, I wouldn't have been surprised.

"So, what are these?" I turned over one of them between my fingers: the jade-green concoction emitted little sparkles in the candlelight. "I bet they taste like licorice, too."

Sand sniffed.

"No one ever complained about the taste but you, dear girl. It's just a few special concoctions I whipped up to help you tomorrow should Lorne decide to cheat or simply give you several gaping chest wounds." He shrugged. "I almost wasted time to get you a poison antidote as well until I realized that you don't need that."

Practical till the end…I couldn't help but smile. Indeed, me being a paladin granted me powers to control poisons, and I was reasonably sure that there's nothing Lorne could put on his blade that would withstand Tyr's magic, unless he had some access to githyanki poisons, which I strongly doubted.  
"And, uh, no need for thanks-- it would just be embarrassing." He waved a hand towards the altar. "I intruded on your prayers, anyway. Let me leave you to it."

"Sand." I said his name again. He turned.

"I am not going to ask." I said quietly. "You don't have to be uncomfortable about it. Neither me, nor Tyr judges you for what you were. What you did the past weeks…"

"You know nothing about what I did!" For the first time since I knew him, his voice was loud enough to cut me off completely. His eyes were sparkling with sudden anger. "How can you say that? How can _your god _say that? You have no idea what the Hosttower…"

"Whatever you did while there, Sand…" I said quietly, keeping a steady gaze at him, "…you are not doing it now. You left, and you came to Neverwinter. You offered your services to Nasher, and you put up with being a shopkeeper in the Docks, selling love potions, hangover cures and grace potions to thieves, harlots and innkeepers. You follow the law as close as anyone can under those circumstances, and I am sure you foiled more than one plot that Luskan had against Neverwinter. But you are right, I cannot absolve you from your past… only you can do that."

He was silent for a few seconds, pondering that. I always knew he was exceptionally smart, so somehow I expected he'd actually turn that around in his mind a bit.

"It's cloves." he murmured finally. "The flavorings in the potions. Cloves and cinnamon. I know you hate licorice." He bowed slightly. "I… appreciate your… words. Maybe I should… rethink my views about paladins."

"You'd better." I snorted. "I have a feeling this wasn't the last time your path and mine met, O, wizard."

He flashed an unexpectedly warm smile: his whole face transformed when he did that.

"I am not sure if I should be thrilled or trembling at that, dear girl." He stopped himself and looked at me a bit more seriously. " Speaking about paths crossing each other, though…There is one last thing. Our friend the ambassador... I think she's rather close to breaking. It's what happens when one is tied to an ill-conceived plan... as I once felt." He shook himself, and winked at me. "And I think Torio is one who prefers to be on the winning side. Worth thinking about, especially if she is at our mercy later."

As the door closed behind him, I chewed on what he just said for a while, sitting back in the pew. I remembered how vulnerable and young Torio seemed for some precious seconds after Marcus answered her challenge, how those black tentacles of evil kept clutching at her heart, and how their source was clearly something outside of her… and I had to agree with his assessment. I wasn't sure if the hold Garius had over her can be broken, but it suffered some cracks during the Trial, definitely. And tomorrow…well, tomorrow just had to be won.

I realized I still had both of my hands full of the phials Sand gave me, so I folded them carefully into the gray cloak--they will have to go tomorrow morning into the sash attached to my sword-belt along with the rest of my defensive scrolls and spells remaining. I was still crouching by my bedroll smoothing the cloak around the glass phials so they won't break even if I accidentally step on them (which I actually did once or twice back in West Harbor and Tarmas was none too pleased) when I heard the door again. _I am sure popular at the time when I was supposed to be alone, _it ran through my head as I straightened quickly and turned to see who my next visitor was.

I must confess when the figure, carefully closing the door behind him, removed the hood from his head, I stared like an idiot for about three heartbeats' length before I caught myself and performed the proper curtsy. No, I definitely didn't expect _him _to visit me.

"My lord." I cleared my throat. "To what do I owe the…?"

"You do know that this altar was donated by Darnell Korranos and his wife, Sebille upon the acceptance of their son amongst the Faithful of Tyr, Squire?" Nasher Alagondar, Lord of Neverwinter forewent the trappings of a ruler-- under the dark cloak his clothing was like any ordinary well-to-do citizen of the Merchant Quarter. His bodyguards were probably waiting outside-- I could just imagine the frown on their face at this unexpected move. For a second I truly felt like I was in one of those fairytales Amie liked so much--the king in disguise with his riddles and the smart peasant girl who answered them.

_Yeah, right_.

That was _definitely _my human side saying that.

"I… no, my lord, I did not know that." I watched him, confused, as he regarded the silver-wrought scenes like he'd seen them the first time. A strange opening to start a conversation; and a strange thing indeed, to say that to me.

"Well, then." He sat down in the pew, folded his hands in front of him and beckoned with his head. "Come here, Squire. I would see your face while we talk. I have a very good reason to come here and it has precious little to do with that brute who threatens to chop you up for breakfast tomorrow."

I was confused even more. If this was not about my pending fight with Lorne, what might it be?

Then I recalled those odd looks during the trial, and his opening remark just now.

"This has something to do about Casavir, my lord?" I said.

"I was told you had your wits about you before I could even heard you putting that witch Torio on her place at the trial." His frank gaze bore into me. "So I decided to see you before your vigil is too far ahead."

"I am at your service, Sire." I hoped that was the correct response.

"It's you, me and the god here, Arrighan, so no need for useless flattery. I haven't the time, and neither have you. I need frankness now." He shook his head, somewhat impatient. "You are aware of my past as an adventurer before the governing of Neverwinter was entrusted upon me, yes?"

"Yes, Sire." I stood there, unsure about where this was going.

"When I took up the mantle of the ruler, " he continued, back to his calm, even tones, "I made a vow to dedicate my life to this city's welfare and safety. I offered myself to Tyr as a sacrifice; if he protects this city through the turmoil to come, I shall keep this part of the Sword Coast firmly in the hands of Light against Darkness."

"I heard His thunder in your voice, Sire, upon our first meeting." He was one of His dedicated ones, without ever being formally consecrated; he bore the god's mark upon his soul like a blazing silver star.

"You are probably wondering where does this doddering old fool go with this?" He flashed a smile at me. "And don't start with the 'you are not old, Sire' stuff, I got that in council regularly enough when my nobles push me to marry and sire children to inherit the throne. I am sixty years old and today I felt every single winter of it in my bones."

"And yet you remain unmarried." I felt my celestial side again, stirring, pushing my human considerations' aside. "The succession of rule is in Tyr's hands. Is that what you vowed to Him?"

He closed his eyes and stayed silent for a second, and I could see then all the lines of age on his face that the long years of rule left on it.

_Sweet Lord of Justice, he came here to make a confession to the Chosen!_

That thought came straight as a searing arrow into my mind, and left me dizzy with dread. I started to line up the usual defenses: that I was just a swamp-born lass, that I barely passed for a paladin, that even Prior Hlam named me _Imperfecta, _that I wasn't worthy of…

Then my fingers touched the marks of the god around my eyes and I understood that those excuses had to go, once and for all. Especially after today, and, most of all, in front of this man, who saw me for what the god intended me to be and trusted me to grow up into it.

"I made some decisions while wearing the crown of Lord Halueth," he started, quietly, and I willed myself to listen with all of my senses "…that I dearly would like to take back. Fenthick Moss's death and Lord Darrell Korranos' trial are amongst them. The worst of all though…" He looked down at his hands in his lap and turned his palms up and down as if he was looking for some marks only he could see. "Here it is then, Chosen of Tyr, and see it for what it is: I vowed myself to my city when I gained the rule; that I'll never know the love of a woman or the joy of being a father, because I shall be the husband of Neverwinter and father to all its citizens. That I shall have no family come before the welfare of my city and its inhabitants. So when the news of Darnell's deeds and the escape of his son reached me, I had no choice." The pain in his eyes was deep, and one that must have been steadily gathering for years and years. "Sebille Korranos was my sister, Chosen. Casavir Korranos, your Champion is my sister-son, and I have no other living relative on Toril. When he left, when I had to declare the Korranos' line extinct, by wielding Tyr's justice against them, when I could not find any trace of him for years despite my best efforts…" He shuddered. "When I heard first from Hlam and then from Nevalle that he was in your company, I felt like…"

"You call me Chosen, Sire." I said, interrupting him with a swift move of my hand that was not quite my own. "But you are one, as well. You have been Chosen by the Even-Handed to guide this city, and as such, you were given a harder path to walk than many of us. I dread the day when I might have to choose between the greater good and a single life… because I don't know, I really don't know what my choice would be." I touched the scar between my breasts where the silver shard lain, faintly pulsing from time to time ever since I arrived to Nasher's city. "Something tells me that time is coming, though." I took a deep breath. "I cannot tell you if what you did was right or wrong; that will be between you and your…nephew." I recalled that look that passed between them in the Hall, the way he didn't say his name, the way he sought Casavir's eyes as he proclaimed his judgment… It was almost heartbreaking. A reunion and the plea or understanding, while half of the City was watching for an entirely different reason. "So I hope you didn't come to me just for that, because… I am not a very good confessor. But your nephew can tell you that."

Nasher's eyes narrowed.

"Remember, Sire… you asked for frankness and no flattery." I looked at him calmly. If he couldn't take that… well, then I learned something, didn't I? "I can die in that arena tomorrow, and if I do, I want you to promise me not to hold the past against him. He doesn't deserve it, and neither do you."

"You do not mince words, Chosen." he said slowly.

"I am a Harborman, Sire." I spread my hands. "Do I have your word, then?"

"I don't seem to recall I was to promise you any…" he started, bristling, and then, suddenly, broke off with a startled laughter. "By the gods, I think I am going to like you."

"Now _that's_ useless flattery, Sire." I smiled at him and his laughter boomed through the vaults of the chapel. It was very similar to Casavir's, and now that I knew they were close relatives, I could even see the similarities in their personality--the iron control they kept over their emotions, the warm but dry humor they both possessed, the deep and passionate care they felt for those entrusted to them…

"Of course you have my word." he said as he rose from the pew. "He's my blood kin, the only one. Besides, I don't think you will die tomorrow." He looked at me thoughtfully. "Will you take advice from an old fighter who hadn't had a real good smacking in decades?"

"You would honor me." I said, and I meant it.

"Well, then." He grew serious. "That Lorne… he is barely keeping it together at the best of times. I watched him while making that proclamation; he wanted to fight you then and there, and that's not the sign of someone in control. I suspect he is one of the Brotherhood assassins who were trained as berserkers… you know what that means, right?" I nodded, and felt something go cold in me. Retta's son was twisted beyond recognition during the years he spent in Luskan… there was no way of saving him now. If ever was a sign of doubt in me to do this, it was erased while listening to the Lord of Neverwinter's clipped, precise words.

"So this is what you do once you are down there, Chosen. You keep hitting him, but try to stay out of his reach. He doesn't like being weighed down with armor, assassins don't have much in the way of that when on assignment. You will be encased in your own Tyrran platemail, and you are used to move around in that fast. Just remember: he's heavier than you, and if he connects, he must hit really hard with that falchion of his. But if you can slow him down somehow, keep hitting him and hitting him and don't stop." He looked at me intently. "Watch his eyes. At some point, he's going to lose it completely, go berserk. He'll be most dangerous then, but that's when you know you've got him desperate. And then, Chosen, one well-placed blow can end it for once and all."

"I understand, Sire." That was good and sound tactical advice from someone who had done this bloody business longer than I was alive, so I was deeply grateful. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet, not until this is over." He said, growing grim again. "By the Gods, we have not come all this way for justice to be denied in this final hour."

"And one more thing, just in case you decide to go Ilmaterian on all of us." he said, turning back from the door, his brow free of the lines that creased it scarce minutes ago. Tyr gave him his answer, it seemed. "He's not going to spare you, not after all Luskan went through to get you."

"I knew him before. " The words were out of my mouth before I could even think about it. "Lorne Starling is…was a Harborman, like me. He went to the war as Neverwinter's soldier and…"

"…and was captured behind enemy lines, taken to Luskan, tortured and turned into a member of the Circle of Blades, yes." Nasher looked at me with the impassive face of a ruler again. "We knew this. We also have informants in Luskan just like they try to infiltrate our city. But tell me: does it make him less the Butcher of Ember? Does the fact that he used to be his mother's loving son who probably wrote long letters to her before he went to the front excuse him from burning little boys and girls alive? Life is what it is, Chosen… it is _what we do when it counts _that defines who we are."

I sat there for quite a while in the quiet of the chapel, thinking about that--like allTruths, it was simple and powerful. It made me look through my own life again, turning the mosaic and maze of events around and around under the focusing lens of that simple sentence. Was I truly worth the grace Tyr handed to me?…. And if I felt I wasn't…was it really my place to question the god's judgment, or should I accept it and…

_It is what we do when it counts that defines who we are…_

"Forgive me, I did not mean to disturb the Rites. " His deep voice was soft and full of concern, and I would have recognized it anywhere in the world. I kept my eyes closed and let out a sigh.

"You're not disturbing me." I said, and I felt my lips twitch into a smile. _Well no, not exactly in a bad way… _

I sent a quick prayer to Tyr for forgiveness. This chapel saw more of my improper thoughts than really I cared for.

"I was troubled. " I turned my head at that and opened my eyes. He still was hovering about a step away from the door that he left ajar. "I need to talk to you about something, but…"

"Casavir." I said with a sigh. "This is Our Lord's chapel. Would you please close that door and trust that both of us are adults enough not to do anything that would anger Him?"

There were so many thing unsaid between us… but this was not the time for them. I could see in his eyes that he was thinking the same.

"Very well." He clicked the door shut. "I… think I saw Nevalle and Bryce when I was coming in and I thought…"

"I am impressed. I am sure they must have taken great pains not to be recognized, given whom they were escorting." I said dryly, and I saw his eyes widen. "Yes. The Lord of Neverwinter was here to see me."

"He… Why?"

"Come, sit." I patted the pew next to me. "Please." I added after a pause. "I trust you are not afraid of me?"

"One can never know." he said cautiously. "You are the one with the unusual combat maneuvers, my lady."

"Touché." I chuckled, remembering his shocked face in Duncan's courtyard. "And thank you, but I don't have anything similar on my mind today." I found that it eased the pressure of what was to come to be a bit lighthearted with him, and I somehow knew that the Even-Handed did not mind either.

"So: Nasher." He returned to that subject stubbornly, while sliding into the pew next to me, making the sign of the sword on his forehead. "Did he come to… educate you in the knightly art of combat or some obscure rule regarding the etiquette of the duel?"

"Casavir." I said warningly. "That's… unbecoming of you."

"Forgive me, my lady." He stared at the altar with his jaw grimly set. "Please do. This entire trial is somewhat…"

I felt ashamed suddenly. I forgot just what memories this entire series of events must have awaken in him.

"I know." I put a hand on his. "And I am sorry. I understand how this…might seem like history repeating itself."

"They even let you spend this night in the same chapel." he whispered; there was pain in his voice. "How could they…?"

"This is your family chapel, isn't it?" He nodded. "And… this is where your father spent his last night?" Another nod. "And now you think this was a deliberate malicious gesture from Nasher and Hlam? Truly?"

"No, it's not that." he said, pursing his lips with that determined stubborn gesture that always, ever since I met him wanted me to take his chin in my hand and shake his head.

"Then what?" I pressed along. "It didn't even occurred to you that this might be a gesture of reconciliation? Something of a new beginning?"

"How can it be a new…" He looked at me as if he saw me for the first time.  
"Your uncle is glad beyond words that you are back, Casavir." I said gently, and, just as I expected, he flinched. "He wishes that he could unmake the decisions of the past, but trusts that when you look at it the way Tyr taught you, you will see that he couldn't have done otherwise. If you both can forgive each other, if you both can admit past weaknesses…" I let that trail and I felt his hand stiffen under my palm, but he did not move away, and I was glad for that.

"I couldn't tell you." he said roughly. "It wasn't mine alone. Especially before the trial. It… was something we were reasonably sure Luskan did not know about. I… Nevalle told me that…"

"I need no explanation, really." I shook my head. "Just please, talk to him. Please."  
"As you wish, my lady." He sighed. "But all of that can wait." His voice eased back to its cooler, more formal tones. "I thought perhaps by seeking you out, that I could help somehow. I know something of knightly combat, more so than your opponent, I suspect. Are you familiar with the etiquette of the duel?"

"You know where I grew up, Casavir. I'd like to hear what you know."

"Very well. First and foremost: you must not yield to Lorne - if there is a chance you can still win, keep fighting, for Lorne will not accept your surrender. Assassins and trained killers are not familiar with the concept, and whatever else Lorne Starling was before does not matter. This you must understand, my lady."

"I do." He gave similar advice to what Nasher told me; their thinking run eerily the same way.

"Anything else?" I leaned back and crossed my arms.

"Any weapons or spells are permitted in the arena - each combatant is expected to fight to the best of their ability, with all the resources at their disposal." He paused. "So you can use whatever powers Our Lord granted you or whatever concoctions Sand gave you-- am I right in suspecting he already visited you with some potion bottles?"

"Indeed." He was perceptive, too.

"Lorne's strength is in close combat - as such, there is no dishonor in keeping him beyond arm's reach." he continued in that same impassive voice, and suddenly something broke in me.

"I know that!" I said forcefully. "Of course I do… he taught me some tricks before he run off to the war that twisted him into this… this… " I felt the tears I kept in check ever since I faced Lorne in the Hall finally threatening to break through. "I still remember him standing there laughing, passing out those blasted half-melted chocolates he brought back all the way from Neverwinter…" I stood up and started pacing around--I could not bear it any more. "… hugging his mother and telling us he'd be home before the leaves fell, that everyone was supremely confident this was just a skirmish, nothing serious and before we knew he'd be back to win the Harvest Cup again… "

"My lady… " he started, but my emotions finally overrode my composure, and I felt the hot tears on my cheek at last, etching the marks of the god into my skin anew as they fell.

"… and here he is now, and he is this monster, he butchered an entire village, by Tyr, he burned little kids alive, and I have to kill him now, I have to, I promised…" My voice broke, and I buried my face in my hands…

"Shhh." He was there, of course he was. He pulled me to him and I let him, and, just like I did in Ember after finding those children I allowed myself to cry, with my arms around his neck, face pressed in his chest, soaking his shirt with my tears.

"Let me fight him. " His rough whisper broke through my sobs. "Let me fight him for you, my lady."

"What?" I pulled back a little.

"If you would permit it…" He tightened his hold on my waist. "Please… let me be the answer to his crimes. Let me make him pay for your tears and anguish, my lady, my…" He shook his head and buried his face in my hair. "Please." he whispered. His heartbeat was like pounding hooves under my face.

I almost said yes. I almost tilted my head back, closed my eyes and let him do what I knew he wanted to do most in that moment.

But I didn't. I couldn't. It would have been easy, it would have been an out… and it would have killed something in both of us.

"This is something I have to do on my own." I heard my own voice whispering. "It is important to me. Do you understand?"

_It is what we do when it counts that defines who we are…_

"I understand." His whisper was more controlled, his heartbeat quieter; he drew a shaky breath and I felt him kiss my hair. "Of course I do." He traced the marks of the god around my eyes with one trembling hand, and his eyes went wide with wonder. "I know Justice will find Lorne at last." He pulled back, releasing me, and bowed formally. "May Tyr guide your blade tomorrow, and may the people of Ember grant strength to your weapons. "

His hand went to his belt and pulled out an exquisitely etched little bottle resting in a net of finely woven silver.

"This… is something that was given to me once -- I need it no longer. " He stepped closer again and folded my fingers around the phial. "If you make use of it tomorrow, it will have served its purpose. " He understood the question in my eyes. "A gift from my mother, with healing and blessings of Ilmater. I kept it with me all these years, but… somehow I never found the right time to use it." He said that with an apologetic little shrug and a tug of a smile on his face that spoke volumes of him. There he was, facing death from orc weapons or beasts of the mountains every day practically, and he never thought of using this…?

"Paladins." I murmured, turning the phial around in my hand. "We are, indeed, cut from a different cloth, aren't we, Casavir?"

"Wouldn't have it otherwise." He smoothed down his hair with that tentative, boyish gesture of his I grew so fond of.

"I… I will be outside, then. Keeping a vigil for you, my lady, so you can sleep under His watchful eye." His eyes grew soft. "Will you…?"

I nodded. I felt the tiredness of the day wash over me, and I knew that the Rites, for me, were over. I had my answers from Tyr-- I was set on the path that I had to walk and even if I wavered for a moment, I decided to go along and do what needed to be done.

But I also knew something else. As I extinguished the candles, leaving only one to burn in the middle, as I lay down on my sleeping mat and pulled the blanked around me, as I closed my eyes and said my last prayers, I felt the warmth of a silver-blue aura surround me. In that other realm, his light burned bright, so bright for me on the horizon of blackness that came so close to engulf me and I knew that over the closed door, beyond the warding spells separating us, he knelt, keeping watch over my rest, praying for me.


	32. Now We're Free

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections. It really helps me to get better, so please feel free to leave a review. Thanks for all of those who have already done so—you guys are great!**

**There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things. Ah, and there was one wet paladin with a towel on. Hence the M rating so far.**

**For this chapter I used the following as a soundtrack: _Niobe's Theme_, _Farewells/ The Storm _and _The Battle Has Begun_ from Jeff Beall's haunting soundtrack for the HBO _Rome _series; and _Now We Are Free _from Hans Zimmer and Lisa Gerrard's _Gladiator _soundtrack.**

**And, as always, I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… Arrighan is entirely my fault, though.**

**Chapter Thirty-Two: Now We Are Free**

They came for me at dawn. When the first rays of sunlight came up behind the stained glass of the chapel's east-facing windows, I was up and at my prayers already. I had no dreams that night--no difficulty falling asleep, no troubling images, no prophetic voices… just blissful, refreshing oblivion that seemingly lasted only for one blink of my eye. When one's purpose is clear at last, when our reason for being somewhere just had been made clear, when we arrive, like an arrow finding its mark--that's how I felt.

As Nevalle, Hlam and Grayson entered the chapel I rose to look at them from the solitary pew.

"It is…time." Nevalle said, carefully neutral. "If you are ready, Squire, we would escort you to the field."

"I am ready, Sir Nevalle." I picked up my cloak with it tightly wrapped contents.

"Your armor, weapon and shield has been on Our Lord's altar for the night and was transported to the field into a tent that has been designated for you, along with your opponent's equipment." said Prior Hlam.

"And you shall have assistance with arming you, of course." Sir Grayson added with a slight smile.

"I don't think I need to really recount this, but…" Nevalle took a deep breath, and I knew that he was referring to his liege lord's visit yesterday, "…this coming battle is crucially important both for you and for Neverwinter itself. For too long has Luskan's Arcane Brotherhood had free passage in Neverwinter."

I could see Sir Grayson stifling an exasperated sigh; I supposed Nevalle liked to give speeches.

"Their presence _will _be removed. What happened at Ember was a terrible crime, and they shall answer for it." That brought him up short; he looked at me for a second, then nodded.

"So it shall be. I am permitted by the Lord Nasher to communicate to you that your own land should await you if you succeed in this--with a noble title if you so wish it."

"I serve the Even-Handed in this, Sir Nevalle." He was so stiff and formal; I could only surmise that he disagreed with his lord's decision. I was, after all, just a washed-up hick from West Harbor, when it was all said and done, while Nevalle a true blueblood, flower of chivalry, Captain of the Nine and all.

"These are dark times, Squire Pendwyr." He inclined his head. "The Lord Nasher needs every loyal hand by his side should more troubles fall upon us."

_Translation--I can understand if Nasher uses you now as he needs your services to get the Luskans removed, _I thought as I looked at him, _but don't think for a minute that you are the equal of any of us_.

I harbored no illusions now that Tyr granted me the Sight… this aristocrat of the chiseled features and perfect hair might be willing to put up with me until I was useful, but liking me he wasn't. If anything, I felt behind his stiff formality some kind of fear that I couldn't quite pin down, not yet… At the first few times we've met, I must confess I was rather awed by his perfect courtesy while he was rather taken aback by what he found in place of the country hick he expected. Now that both of us were rid of our first impressions, the situation was quite different, and I could feel the hesitation in him to fully trust me.

"I will do what I can in the service of Tyr and to prevent Neverwinter from sharing Ember's fate." I said, keeping my eyes on him.

He did the same.

"Very well. I can ask for no more. "He made a sweep with his arm. "If you will? The tourney grounds await."

The Temple was empty as we walked out; horses awaited us at the gate. I mounted without a word, and nudged Lorra into a gentle trot. It was good to be on horseback again, and I was grateful for whoever thought to get my own mare here this morning. I caught a slight wink from Sir Grayson as he caught up next to me for a second on his gray gelding, and I suspected he was responsible.

"I thought an old friend this morning would be a welcome sight." he said gently, verifying my suspicion.

"Along with new ones. " I smiled at him. "Thank you, Sir Grayson."

"But of course, my dear… Squire." he corrected with a slight shake of head. I smiled again. I had the feeling that for a second there he really forgot that I was his squire of convenience. It made me like him even more.

The tourney grounds were on the outskirts, beyond Blacklake's gate, close to the Solace Glade, which I found, on retrospect, oddly fitting. As it was so early in the morning, we barely encountered anyone, but Sir Grayson assured me there will be a crowd later.

"It was essential to get you here early." he said as we reached a large tent at one end of the round field, between the two stands curving around the edge of the grounds. There was another one at the other end; while this one was decorated in the colors of Neverwinter--blue and gold, the other bore the sea green and bold blood-red of Luskan on its stripes. "Not only we wanted to avoid the gawkers, you will need time to get properly armed."

I nodded in agreement; somehow I did not relish the thought of hastily donned gear. Even though I did that more that once, and I was reasonably sure that should I have someone assist me I could get my armor on in a relatively short time, today of all days I wanted to make sure it was properly done.

Something must have shown in my hesitation as I dismounted and patted Lorra's flank, because Prior Hlam stepped up to me and took my arm.

"Go, Sister." he said gently. "Your armor will be donned with Tyr's blessings, never fear. We shall depart to meet the Lord Nasher's entourage." He lightly touched my forehead. "May Our Lord lead your blade swift and true."

"So it shall be, Father." I recognized the blessing from Aevan's teachings; that of brothers before battle. I inclined my head solemnly and turned away from them, opening the tent flap with one hand and ducking in.

"Oh. She's here!" Shandra was gripping my arm before I knew it, with the customary warrior greeting, all nervous energy, chewed lip and red eyes. "Well, come on; let us be your squire, if you are ready…" She let out a loud breath, blowing her fine hair out of her face, indicating the middle of the tent, where my armor stood on a stand--and as I turned towards it, I understood what Prior Hlam meant by me being armored with Tyr's blessing.

_This idiot grin needs to go_, _really_, I said firmly to myself… and yet I was reasonably sure that I positively radiated from ear to ear.

"Slept well, my lady?" Casavir asked cautiously, trying to keep a solemn and neutral expression on his face but failing spectacularly. Oh, Tyr, but it was good to see him here! And especially looking at me like that.

"In fact, yes." I said lightly. _There is no way I should behave like that right before my trial by combat._ I tried to discipline my heart, without much success.

"No dreams?" I shook my head and he continued in the same tone. "That's… good."

Shandra was looking at us with narrowed eyes.

"If this is some kind of a secret code amongst paladins, I am just letting you two know right now that it can be horribly misleading." She was really nervous, I had to realize, and that finally broke through the slightly rose-tinted clouds I seemed to be walking on. I looked at her, and she grinned. "Anyway, Duncan sent some coffee and rolls, despite me telling him there's no way you would have an appetite…"

"Wrong, my dear." To her utter amazement, I kissed her on the cheek and looked around. "If you point me at it, I definitely can have some."

Not too much, of course… I had no inclination of stuffing myself full of food and drink. I remembered what Aevan told me about that. No one wants to be punched in the gut by an unexpected pommel strike and then puking a three-course meal into one's helmet. To be choked by one's own vomit was a bad way to go, and I was reasonably sure Tyr would not want me to do anything as stupid as that.

"Oh!" Shandra exclaimed suddenly, looking around, clicking her tongue and trying to look naturally annoyed. "Grobnar promised he'd get here with some extra points for your armor I forgot to pack…Let me go and find him, he is probably stuck at one of those broadsheet-sellers that set up shop early, trying to get some new tunes…" She patted my shoulder. "Be right back to help you into the armor…" Before I could say anything (my mouth was full with the last bite from a roll, anyway) she ducked through the tent flap and was gone.

"So much about a chaperone." I murmured under my nose and took a sip from my mug. I must admit I felt rather awkward and mildly annoyed at Shandra. "What the hells was she thinking, that I am going to jump you as soon as she leaves?" I shot an angry look at Casavir and realized that I said that out loud.

"Um." I blushed, rather spectacularly. "Sorry. Tactless. Again. Did I say that…?"

"You sure did, my lady." He busied himself with smoothing out some creases on my arming gambeson, hanging right next to my armor. "I really hope I can ignore that remark."

"Yes, please do." I mumbled, smoothing a stray strand of hair back from my face. I decided that sitting as far from him as possible was the best idea, but nervousness got the better of me, so I stood up. Besides, I saw him checking things off on a piece of paper and that made me curious.

"So…what's that?" I asked, putting my mug down and stepping up next to him. I gave myself a mental slap--_you two will have to act normally in front of a lot of people, so better to stop this tongue-tiedness. Come on, Rig, you can do it._

"Tent, chairs, washbasin…" he murmured, looking around and ticking things off, "Trestle table, bread rolls, coffee instead of wine, board and board cloth, knife, cup, glass…" He looked up at me. "Oh. The list of items traditionally provided for a trial by combat, my lady. Need to make sure everything is properly set and just so." He dipped the quill he was holding to a little inkwell and continued to tick things off. "_Pourpoint_, _gambeson_, your armor, longsword, dagger, your helmet with liner…" He tapped his chin with the quill absentmindedly and left a smear. "Those arming points won't be enough, though…"

"That's why Shandra went to find Grobnar, I assume?" That ink smear on his chin irritated me more and more, so I impulsively grabbed the cloth from under the breadrolls. "Stop!" I commanded and he turned, looking at me.

"Yes, my lady?" he asked with one aristocratic eyebrow slightly lifted.

"Hold." I said curtly. "Ink smear." I shook my head, remembering what he told me once. "I bet you did that often while being a novice."

"All the time, my lady." He smiled a tight little smile, reached out to take the cloth form my hand, but I was faster.  
"No, let me do it. You can never quite get it right on yourself, trust me, whether it's ink, blood or food. One of the first things I had to learn, because… No, really, let me…"

The words trailed off as I realized just how close we were to each other. I could feel the heat of his body; he caught my hand by the wrist as I reached towards his face, trying to get that smudge.

Suddenly everything that happened to me during these last days narrowed down into a silver-and-blue tinged focus with dizzying speed, and my breathing became faster.

My entire world contained in that inch separating us, I looked into his eyes, and, just like that, everything changed again. I stepped into the circle of his arms, as if I always belonged there, and he gathered me to his chest.

Neither of us spoke: I thought my heart was about to burst. One of his hands stroking my hair, the other resting on my waist… I leaned against him, breathing in the scent of his skin: soap, leather, and the familiar incense of Tyr. I listened to his heartbeat, closed my eyes and let his silver-and-blue aura do the rest.

"I am so sorry, my lady." he whispered after we stood there I don't know how long.

"About… what?" I did not move, and neither did he.

"I should have… thought about it earlier." His deep voice was full of tenderness. "About… talking to you. But… you… you are so… unique. And different; I never really fully understood up till yesterday, what burden you carry. You truly are a Shard-Bearer, my lady…" His hand never ceased to caress my hair. "You carry it, and many others, and know that at the end of your fight you will… you will face the greatest darkness ever, no doubt." He took a deep breath. "One cannot help but… admire such a person. Not fully counting on the fact that that other person, however much touched by heavenly powers through her divine ancestry and the fate she carries is… despite, and after all… a mortal. And a young woman. Please forgive me."

I felt absurdly ashamed: why was he apologizing to me? Sometimes I forgot the age difference between us; almost ten years.

"There is… nothing to forgive. You could have easier time taming the wind, then… " I shook my head and tried to cast about for the first thing that came to my mind. "Remember when we first met?"

"Goodness, how can I forget?" He made a little, half-caught laughing sound in the back of his throat. "I thought I've seen one of Tyr's battle-archons, terrible and beautiful and majestic in her anger, coming down the slope of that hill to aid us against that band of orcs, as if to answer my prayers…" His tone was slightly mocking as he continued. "Even though the first words I've heard from you should have shattered that illusion."

I snorted.

"Yes, indeed. '_Oh, fuck, Khel, this must be that godsdammed vigilante group Callum warned us about…_' if I recall it right. " I let my hands, slowly, awkwardly glide down on his back to rest around his waist. "And I thought…" I shook my head at the memory of it. "When you and I first fought side by side, I thought my heart would break at the glorious simplicity of it…There were no doubts, no questions, no hesitation--you knew what I wanted to do and I knew what you did the next second. It was almost as if Tyr himself came to aid me." I swallowed at the memory. "Sometimes I thought that this… this turmoil of feelings was the punishment of the god for that first sacrilegious thought." I thumped my chest. "It hurts so much, Casavir. It does. My duties as Tyr's Chosen, these markings on my face, the Sight that came to me, and this trial by combat… _This _here," another thump, "this heart of Arrighan, the woman, wants something different. And it hurts."

He nodded, not releasing me, not releasing my gaze.

"You hold my heart." he said simply. "And you always will." A deep sigh lifted his chest. "But…"

"I know." I let my head fall back on his shoulder. "I talked to Prior Hlam, too. We are who we are, and we cannot, at the moment, let anything override that."

"I never wanted to hurt you…" he whispered in that broken voice again. "I would… I would die for you."

"I know." I smoothed my cheek against the leather of his jerkin and sighed. "But I cannot let you to do that today." I felt his shoulder stiffen and I knew that he will try to offer being my champion again.

"You are His Chosen, my lady…" There was a stubborn determination in his voice I didn't care for. "You should not have to…"

"I shouldn't have to do _what_?" I pulled back and looked at him, hard. "What I vowed with sacred oath not once, but twice to Our Lord?" He started to say something but I overrode it. "What is my duty, nay, _reason _for being Chosen? And why? Because you think there are better and higher things I should do with my life than possibly sacrificing it for a little village whose name will surely be forgotten in a month or two?"

"That is not what I meant, my lady…" He shook his head, but too late. I could hear echoes in his voice, echoes of _something _he himself told me once…

'_One can better serve the greater good in the position one was born to by the grace of the gods than chasing for glory in hacking at savages_.' He quoted that to me, from a letter his father wrote to him, once-proud Darnell Korranos. I could clearly hear that in his tone, the slight disapproval mixed with the desire to protect me and elevate me on some kind of a pedestal…

"I hope not." I said, pulling away and grabbing at my coffee mug as if it was a shield, feeling that old nausea rising in the pit of my stomach again…

…_a piece of fabric, about palm-sized, set behind a thin plate of glass: cream-colored silk, with a piece of delicate Amnian lace edging it…_

I slammed the mug down and turned to face him again, my voice rising as I advanced on him, finger poking his chest. It felt ridiculous, having these emotions all over the place like I was a ship on a sea wrecked with the worst imaginable storm, and all of this right now, before one of the most important moments of my life this far… but all those little voices of caution vanished as my human and West Harbor-raised self reasserted itself rather firmly.

"So let me make this clear to you right now: I am _not _some goddess to be put on a pedestal and venerated, Korranos! No pieces of my clothing in little boxes to be kissed, no kneeling in front of me, none of this nauseating untouchable shit. I bleed, I cry, I bitch, I have problems just like anyone else. Just like, for that matter, should you!"

I saw him blanch at that, I saw the realization hit him that I _knew_… and I also saw that I hurt him just as well as if I stabbed him hard enough to bleed.

And that I didn't want. I didn't, so help me Tyr.

So I stepped close to him again, and

_I can discuss this with Hlam later, I might die today, dammit, so I might as well…_

"And you know, if you _really _want pieces of my clothing, feel free to come and take them off me, and then kiss _me _instead of the damn fabric!"

"Okay, that BETTER be some paladin code." Shandra's voice cut through the tension between us like a sword. I realized that my nose was touching his, and I hastily stepped back, while Casavir picked up the quill and paper he dropped on the table.

_Oh shit, this is exactly what I did **not **want to happen, _I thought, while trying not to glare at Shandra as if she just butchered my favorite baby lamb for Greengrass.

"So, did you find 'Nar?" I asked, yanking my _pourpoint _off its stand and starting to unbuckle my belt.

"Yeah, he had the points but he said he found this…" She caught my arm. "_What _are you doing?"

"What?? I need to change into…Oh."

"Allright." Shandra took a deep breath. "One paladin, one corner. Arrighan, with me. Casavir, over there." She pointed to the opposite end of the tent. "I am _so _not going to say anything right now…" she continued between her teeth. She waited until Casavir's back was turned, then continued her monologue, while unbuckling my belt and pulling off my tunic over my head while grabbing the white shirt from the table.

"…because if I do, I might just say something highly inappropriate, and I really don't want to piss off anyone just before you walk out there to face the biggest hulking godsdamn brute Luskan assassin ever." She bit her lip and shook her head. "I can't _believe_ I am playing _duenna _to the Chosen of Tyr_… _Now put that shirt on, will you, so we can get this over with? Please."

"Yes, Mother." I said, almost against my will. She had that command voice down perfect; I obeyed without hesitation. "And thank you." I added, in a much weaker voice.

"Here, let me braid up your hair." She decided to move on, and I was happy to go along. I watched as she pulled out some cords and ribbons from her belt. "Look, I even got a comb… learning from Sand about necessities in life, huh? You'd think us girls think about stuff like that, but it took a moon elf wizard to show it to us."

I took the stool placed in front of the table and sat down.

"Thanks, Shan…" I was grateful for that little thought. I was painfully aware that, since I spent the night at the Temple, my hair was just hastily pulled into a ponytail and twisted up into a knot after I woke up. I closed my eyes as Shandra worked on my hair with slow, rhythmic strokes, and let my breathing slow down and become even. She finished combing out the knots and, quickly separating the strands, started a braid, working in the tresses in little by little as she worked her way down.

"A lot of hair." she remarked off-handedly. "Ever thought about cutting it? It's hardly practical for what you do, pardon me for saying so."

"Call it a superstition, but no." I remembered the same conversation with Neeshka and shook my head emphatically. "And speaking about superstitions, Shan: can the other paladin come out of the corner yet?" I lowered my voice. "You know he won't, not until you tell him so." And he wouldn't. I saw him standing guard when we traveled enough to know that he was able to stand without moving even a finger for hours if needed. Despite us both being warriors of the same god, his self-discipline put mine to shame, however much Aevan worked on me, and however much I improved since Casavir started to teach me the Path of the Silver Fire.

"Oh." Shandra reddened a bit. "Sorry…I guess now that you are decent…" She finished tying off the ribbon that fixed the last strand into place and picked up the _pourpoint, _raising her voice. "Casavir!"

The two of them armed me, slowly and carefully, enclosing me in my freshly scrubbed and polished armor, piece by shining piece. Casavir hummed the appropriate prayers all along; his deep, soothing voice serving as a counterpoint to the rising murmur of the crowd gathering outside. I kept my breathing slow and even, my eyes fluttering closed from time to time as I listened to him, and savored every moment I felt his fingers brush against me.

My sabatons came on first, laced to my ankle-boots, then the greaves, knee pieces and the cuisses. I could feel their protective magic waking up, almost with an audible buzz, much stronger than before. I had to think that the change in me that brought forth the god's runes around my eyes likewise made me more sensitive towards divine magic in general. When it was time for the cuisses to be pointed to the lower edge of my _pourpoint_, Shandra shooed away Casavir and did it alone. I was deeply amused; when I acquired my first plate armor, it was always Khelgar who helped me into it--Elanee or Neeshka would have had no idea what to do. The fact that Khelgar was of the male persuasion did not even occurred to me, but apparently _someone _talked to Shandra about this. I strongly suspected Sand.

"Now I really feel like your squire." she remarked as she neatly tied off the last of the lacings. "Okay, let me see. Sit." she commanded. I did. "Stand." I did. "Did I do all right?"

"Shan, it's not that this is the first time." I said, shaking my head. "What is the matter?"

"I am just…I just want to make sure it's done right, okay?" She glanced at Casavir and bit her lip. "Not like I don't have faith in you or anything, but… Rig, that man is built like a mountain, and if he…" She swallowed. "Well, if he wins, he's out of our reach to…"

"You are seriously worried about me." I extended my arms to the side so Casavir could slide the gambeson on. Both _pourpoint _and gambeson were brand new, made of fine deep blue linen, quilted together in several layers, and stuffed with wool.

"Yeah." She pursed her lips and pulled on the gambeson from the front so she can start on the buttons. I knew the drill: I was supposed to stand there, arms slightly extended, while she finished buttoning it up, so the mail hauberk could go on. "Not that I would be crying or anything…" She sniffed. "I haven't cried since I was a girl, and even then, only when peeling onions." She pulled on the hem, after finishing the last button. "How is that?"

"Fits good." I made a few experimental circles with my arms. "Shan: I took an oath." I said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I have to stop him. He will not go free."

"Gods, you are so… frustrating!" she said, exasperated. "Paladins… and while you are at it, why not to move Faerun as well? No, I am fine, Casavir, thank you!" she snapped as he put down the hauberk he just took off the stand and looked at her, concerned.

"Shandra." His voice was full of calming undertones. "There is no other way, and you know it."

"Casavir offered to fight in my stead, dear." I said as gently as I could. "But this something I need to do. And not because I took an oath to Neverwinter. This is for Ember."

Shandra sniffed and extended a slightly trembling hand towards the hauberk.

"Give me that thing, Casavir. It needs two to properly adjust it." From the defiant set of her chin I knew she calmed down a bit, and wanted to concentrate on the task at hand before she broke down completely. The balance was very fragile.

There was not much talk after that; all three of us sensed the growing tension in the air, both inside and outside of the tent. Shandra and Casavir carefully, very carefully continued to wrap me in steel; after the short-sleeved haubergeon the breastplate and backplate got buckled on, then all of the arm pieces, each pointed through the gambeson and secured with straps, that were re-checked for faults meticulously by Casavir before even handing them over. I buckled on my sword belt and baldric, and tucked the various potions from Sand and Casavir's flask into the easiest places to reach.

My sword, when I picked it up, felt lightly different, and I said so as soon as I pulled it out of its scabbard to check the edges.

"Sand and Elanee worked on it a bit last night." said Shandra, taking the scabbard from my hand and buckling it to the belt. I knew Sand was good with enchantments, but during our stay in the city, Elanee discovered a surprising affinity to help Khelgar working with armor and weapons he repaired or hammered out himself at the Docks smithy he had access to. "Well, actually, a lot, truth to tell."

"I can feel it." The blade was already enchanted a bit before, but now it almost danced with power, a slightly bluish silvery sheen and, when I moved it around, gave an almost ringing clear sound. It was powerful, and when I slid it in its place, I knew that it will be more than a little help against the dark rot of evil that took root in Lorne.

All that was left, after that, was to attach the gorget to the breastplate, add the helmet and gauntlets, and I was ready.

"So… I think I go and see how things are going out there." Shandra said. "I figure you two need to talk before this. " She shook her head angrily and gave me a quick, hard hug. "Besides, I need to keep Duncan from jumping down the stands and attacking Lorne with his bare hands… he was in a right shape this morning." She looked into my eyes. "You do what you need to do, all right? I…" She bit her lip; I could see she wanted to say something else but decided against it, and she was gone before I could respond in kind.

"She cares about you very much, my lady." Casavir's deep voice startled me as I stared after Shandra, somewhat deep in thoughts.

"I'll try not to disappoint, then." I lifted my gorget from the table and turned it idly in my hand. I still felt slightly uncomfortable about our interrupted conversation earlier. "Listen, I am really sorry about what I…"

"Don't even start, my lady." I looked up at him and froze from the intensity of all those emotions swirling in his blue eyes. "Just… come back alive from out there. Please?"

His hands came up and cupped my face ever so gently. I closed my eyes and managed a feeble nod. I couldn't find my voice.

"We'll talk. I promise." he whispered. I felt his lips brush against my forehead. My heart gave a painful lurch, and I let out a long shuddering sigh as he stepped back and took the gorget out of my unresisting hands.

"Let's finish this." he said grimly and I could almost hear the clang of steel doors in his voice. I knew since we first met that he was always the one with the perfect self-control.

He buckled the neck protector up, attached the helmet liner, fussed with the helmet straps a bit, asked tersely if the fingers of my gauntlets moved easy enough--in short, he was every bit the professional paladin comrade he was supposed to be, lending aid and advice to a member of the order serving the Even-Handed in an official capacity. I responded in kind, holding still while he adjusted the helmet, sliding the visor up and down, obediently grasping and releasing my sword's pommel demonstrating the gauntlet's flexibility…

Then he clasped and pinned my cloak around my shoulder, and nodded.

"It is time, my lady. " His hand moved above my head, drawing the sign of the sword and intoning the words of power evoking the Even-Handed's protection. I bowed my head and accepted the blessing blossoming up around me, feeling its power waking every warding rune of my armor. As I looked at Casavir, I knew that the god's marking around my eyes must have strengthened too: his expression was so full of awed reverence that I was the one who turned and stepped out of the tent ahead of him, my fingers convulsing on my sword's pommel.

I felt white wings beating around me faster and faster as I entered the circle of the arena; from the moment I left the tent of preparation, I was only aware of my immediate surroundings and not much else. The sounds of the crowd, the clean, cold sunlight, the wind that started up and lifted the corners of my cloak… all of these dimmed and paled in significance compared to what was waiting for me in the middle of the sawdust-strewn ellipse of the tourney grounds. My steps never slowed; in a steady march of steel and slowly rising anger, my heart echoing the old battle hymn, I walked in and stopped in the middle, facing the dais built on the wooden stands where Lord Nasher and his entourage sat.

_Darkness has no hold_

_Shadow has no power_

_When your might enfolds_

_All evil will cower._

_Maimed Hand, blind but sees all_

_Guide us through despair_

_Strength that never will fall_

_Just Lord, hear our prayer_

_Under Thy holy shield_

_No pain and no sorrow_

_Justice Thy arm wields_

_Thus riseth tomorrow_

"Is the accuser or her champion here?" Lord Nasher's voice rang out loud and clear, cutting the crowd's murmur down to almost nothing.

"We are here." That angry voice was nothing like the full of confidence, hopeful timbre of the young soldier of Neverwinter all those years ago, I told myself as I looked at Lorne. There was nothing there that I could connect to, there was only dark, swirling rage. I could see tremors running through his leather-covered limbs, as he attempted to control the fury almost spilling out of his jet-black eyes.

"Is the accused or her champion here?" Nasher continued, and his cool, strong voice made me remember the advice he gave me last night.

_He doesn't like being weighed down with armor, assassins don't have much in the way of that when on assignment. You will be encased in your own Tyrran platemail, and you are used to move around in that fast…_

I opened my visor up and nodded.

"I am here to defend myself and for the people of Ember." I said; my voice rang out clear and loud.

The High Justiciar stood up from where he sat on Nasher's right.

"What takes place in the field here today shall resolve the crime of the razing of the village of Ember and the death of its people." He indicated a smaller dais on the other side of the arena, where Torio sat with a couple of black-clad men. "Torio Claven, ambassador of Luskan, has accused one in the service of Neverwinter, and has called for a trial by combat to resolve the matter. Acting on her behalf is her champion, Lorne, who will fight in her stead. " He extended his arms in blessing over us and I tensed, knowing that the moment I was readying myself for all morning was finally upon us.

"We call upon Tyr to help us settle this matter. Tyr's judgment shall come forth - through blade and strength, through balance... and resolve. Let the fight begin."

"_Reba Tiw naethe na'chaalom atha abba…"_

I only had time to murmur the first line of invocation before Lorne was on me. I did not expect that kind of speed out of him, but really, I should have. He was wearing only a couple pieces of leather armor, mostly on his arms and legs, and just because he was so big, it didn't mean he was slow. I scrambled back as his falchion hissed in an arc in front of me and blocked with my own blade, hastily drawn and thrown up in an awkward angle.

I chided myself as I slid into Tyr's battle time with practiced ease and everything slowed down in time with my heartbeat. The shouts from the crowd registered only as extremely slow, drawn-out, low-tone thrumming in my ears.

I underestimated Lorne's speed, despite the fact that I sparred almost daily with Casavir who himself was not a small man. Lorne towered over me with his seven feet, so I assumed all that body mass slowed him down.

_So much about assumptions_… Another deceptively straight cut was screaming towards my head. I was prepared to bind and counter, but it _somehow _changed direction in the middle and slammed into my midsection with such a force that I staggered back. I saw my protective magic sparkle up, heard the groan of my entire armor as it strained to withstand the force of that blow…

_Just remember: he's heavier than you, and if he connects, he must hit really hard with that falchion of his, _Nasher said.

_Yeah, no shit, Your Highness._

"Soon your body will lie with the villagers of Ember, little paladin." Lorne snarled, leaning over me. I felt my battle-time slipping, and I was back in the real world again, seeing his black eyes glittering above me with red rage in their depths." Beg for your life… just like those people in Ember did."

"Not… quite yet, Lorne Starling." I managed a croak from my suddenly parched throat and lunged at him.

"Ah… go on. I've been waiting for this for too long." He laughed in my face and barely grunted as my sword found a gap between his arm defenses. "Do you think you're even hurting me? You haven't even come close!"

_Back in the god's time again…_

_Don't let him get to you._

His falchion flashed, and I twisted away from the expected thrust just to realize that somehow I _misjudged _the direction again, and my gorget bruised against my collarbones painfully as it deflected a slash at my throat.

_Wham_!

The world spun out of focus for a dizzying second as the same strike ripped upwards and its incredible, savage force tore my helmet's buckles. It spun away from my head, leaving it uncovered save the lining…

I left myself completely open again…how could that happen…?

_A falchion! _I stared at his blade and in that split second between one strike and next I understood.

His was a curved blade, mine a straight one. Every technique, every defense and attack I had was based on the principle of straight weapons: the geometry of blood that I learned and that of Lorne's were fundamentally different. Every time I expected him to perform a certain way, I naturally failed.

That was an elementary mistake, and I felt a rush of heat in my cheeks as the full realization of just how close I was to commit the sin of pride hit me square on. I had no time for contemplation, though; I had to figure out how to correct my error, and fast.

_If you can slow him down somehow…_

My body moved before the conscious thought entered, as I saw the next flash of his falchion. It was an arc, not a straight line, and now that I saw that, I could see how it would have changed direction as well, just as it reached mid-distance between us.

So I took a deep breath and _fell forward _under his blow before it could reach me.

The crowd probably could only see that I fell, and their roar was deafening, even in the slowed-down register of battle time.

I fell forward, and as I landed on my knees, I twisted, bringing my blade up between Lorne's legs…

_You can always try to aim for the sweet spot. _I heard Khelgar's voice in my head as I jerked upwards, felt my blade connect…

… about the same time as the pommel of his falchion came down and sideways into my unprotected face…

Screaming agony lanced though my head, and I felt my mouth fill with blood, saliva and the shards of my teeth. I crawled aside, back in the real world again, battle time forgotten, coughing and spitting. I was barely hearing the thud of Lorne's body behind me as he also fell to the ground after my sword found it way to his thigh--my ears were still ringing with the force of that savage blow. I didn't think I got his artery like I originally planned; but I probably indeed slowed him down.

I hoped so. I knew I got a mild concussion right there. I could have used a break.

My left hand fumbled for one of Sand's healing potions in my baldric; found it, and, while trying to control the pain, turned to see what my opponent was doing.

"You can't stop me. Cut me a thousand times, and I'll still be at your throat!" He was on the ground. I could see red blood all around him, so much blood…

But he was rising, he was getting up, and the same redness was in his eyes now, the blood rage of berserk fury, uncontrolled and unleashed at last.

"I'll tear your head off your shoulders, bitch!" he roared.

I couldn't end it while he was in this state… that was the nature of his rage, he would have ignored everything I'd thrown at him. I wounded him gravely, but he was ready to just keep coming after me again and again…

I shook my head, spat the last of my loose teeth out, and poured the healing potion down my throat.

It hurt. A lot.

_I hope this will not enter into the books of the Order as my greatest deed_… I thought as I turned and started running along the edge of the tourney field.

"Stay still, damn you!" Lorne yelled behind me, and I knew he took the bait. From the color of the blood in the sawdust, I figured at least I nipped that artery: a better shot than I thought the first time.

_Maybe he wore some protection there after all… _My thoughts came in little flashes; I tried to re-enter battle time, but was still too dazed. The cinnamon and clove oils mixed into the potion numbed the pain immediately, and I could feel the familiar buzz of healing magic take hold and stop the bleeding, but…

"By the Gods, I'll kill you!" He got closer somehow. I increased my speed.

"You gotta catch me first, Starling!" I shouted back. "You never managed that while back at West Harbor… I won't let you to do it now either!"

"You've barely scratched me, little girl!" He definitely was getting tired… but so was I. Besides, this was more than ridiculous… I was jogging along the field's perimeter like a raw recruit-in-training, I was _running away from my opponent…_

All of my instincts screamed for stopping, for turning, for facing him in honest combat…

"_Lorne's strength is in close combat - as such, there is no dishonor in keeping him beyond arm's reach."_

"Yeah, next time _you _try that, Korranos." I gasped, remembering Casavir's advice. "I will watch, I promise."

"I won't let you have this day! Not after all we've done!" Lorne was almost on me; my own doubts slowed me down…

But at the same instant, I heard his shortness of breath, the rasping, wheezing sound of someone of the verge of collapsing. It was unmistakable.

I spun, with sword raised, facing him, searching for his eyes…

And yes! It was there… the last of his frenzy was leaking out of him, leaving a mere spark, with nothing but emptiness and lack of purpose behind.

_Find them. Find those who did this. Help so we will not be forgotten._

The whispers were all around me suddenly, rising like great feathery wings, enveloping me… Little wisps of white smoke at the edge of my vision…

The spirits of Ember's children coalesced around me in the air, shimmering with a pearlescent light. One of them glided forward, towards Lorne's lumbering form, and I saw him stop on his path as if he'd been struck square in the chest, staggering back a little, raising his arm in front of his eyes.

This was my moment.

This was the time.

_Darkness has no hold_

_Shadow has no power_

_When your might enfolds_

_All evil will cower_

"For Ember." My voice rang with the echoes of Tyr's temple bells as my blade, seemingly on its own volition, rose and came down in a shining arc drawing a silver line in the air and slammed into Lorne Starling's chest, hurling him on his back in the sand and sawdust.

_Thank you… _I heard the whisper of the ghost-children around me and I felt the touch of little hands on my face like early snowflakes falling from the grey Uktar skies, biding farewell.

_Thank you…Chosen of the Even-Handed…_

_We can rest now._

_We can all rest._

"I have abided by the terms of this combat, and will continue to do so." I found my voice, standing over Lorne, with the tip of my sword touching his neck. "Face the Even-Handed's justice now, Lorne Starling."

"You think you've won? " Pitch-black hatred stared back at me from his eyes, and just like in the courtroom with Torio, there was _someone _else looking out of his eyes. I took a little step backwards; the force of that evil was almost overwhelming… "You've won nothing!" Lorne coughed and spat blood on the ground, turning slowly, painfully to his side. I could see blood gushing out of his side and his thigh in short, bright pulses. "Black Garius seeks your death, of that you can be sure--and you will not be able to stop him." He shook his head wearily. "So go on--kill me. " He spat again. "If you have the courage, Tyr's hound." He laughed, a short, painful sound. "Whatever your god says, little paladin, know this: there is no law, not here, not anywhere. You are a fool. I will _never _be punished for what I did at Ember... and no law, no decree, will _ever _erase the stain I've placed on your name. Even in defeating me here, you have achieved no victory. The people of Ember are still _dead_."

That last sentence echoed in the suddenly chilled air of the arena. There was silence; it seemed everyone was waiting.

_It is what we do when it counts that defines who we are…_

_Chosen of the Even-Handed_… If that's what I was, truly, than I knew what the true punishment of Lorne Starling should be. And what I have to do after that, as a consequence.

I leaned over him, flicking my blade across his throat. It left a bright red mark on his tattooed skin.

"**Lorne Starling, once of West Harbor, I shall not give you the reprieve of an easy death**." My voice should have been slurred with the pain of my wound and yet, it rang out with the echoes of something that was beyond this plane. The uncoiling of my silver power shook my body and I saw Lorne's pupils widen as he felt the weight of the god pressing down on him. **"So speaks the Even-Handed: return to your newly chosen home in disgrace."**

I heard his grunt as his eyes fluttered up into his head and he lost consciousness, and I turned in the suddenly rising wind, feeling my cloak flapping behind me as I walked back to where Nasher's dais rose above the stands.

"**Justice has been served, Lord Nasher**." Still driven by the god, still with his thunder in my voice, I lifted a hand and inclined my head to him. "**Will you say so?"**

"It shall be so. My judgment passed at the trial shall now take effect, as was intended." Nasher's clear green gaze was straight and unwavering. I swayed a bit as the fatigue found me at last; having His power on me again was taking its toll. "The Arcane Brotherhood of Luskan is to leave the city of Neverwinter within three days time, and they are not to be permitted within our walls again, by royal decree."

"Then it is over." I whispered, finding my own voice again, blurry with pain and blood. "The people of Ember are free."

The thundering roar of the crowd drowned out whatever else Nasher was saying. I could see men with a stretcher running into the arena and kneel next to Lorne; I could see a pale-faced Torio and his retinue surrounded by guards in black-and-gold armor; I could see the High Justiciar inclining his head towards me; Sir Nevalle's mouth drawn into a tight smile as he saluted me with his fist over his heart…

As I turned away from the dais, the wind whipped my cloak around me like a great wing, but the echoes of Tyr's thunder were gone, and so were the sounds of ghost whispers. It was all real again, all _here _and now. I raised my eyes from the bloody sand of the arena towards the entrance, and I only had time to brace myself a bit…

… before I had an unashamedly crying Neeshka, a bellowing Khelgar and a hysterically laughing Shandra falling on me all at once, while Grobnar was somehow hugging my knees and humming something that sounded suspiciously like a variation on one of the Neverwintan victory marches. I caught a flash of Sand's grin, wide and uncharacteristically happy, a wink from my uncle, complete with a clap on my back that sent him reeling back because he forgot that I was wearing plate again… then all of that fell away as I was caught by two strong arms in an embrace that made me forget pain, concussion and the fact that I was wearing my full battle armor. I threw my arms around his neck and he lifted me off my feet and spun me around to the increasingly loud _thud-thud _of my heartbeat.

Before reality reasserted itself and I pulled away to embrace my other companions, I heard his deep voice whispering my name in my ear, over and over again, and I knew with a certainty of an arrow finding the center of a target, that whatever may come, whatever I might face after this day, I will never have to be alone again.


	33. The Long Day Is Over

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections. It really helps me to get better, so please feel free to leave a review. Thanks for all of those who have already done so—you guys are great!**

**There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things. Ah, and there was one wet paladin with a towel on. Hence the M rating so far.**

**For this chapter I used the following as a soundtrack: _The Long Day Is O_v_er_ from Norah Jones' _Come Away With Me, Bella Notte _from Ludovico Einaudi's _I Giorni_, and _Santiago (Live version) _from Loreena McKenitt's _Nights From the Alhambra _concert album.**

**And, as always, I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… Arrighan is entirely my fault, though.**

**Chapter Thirty-Three: The Long Day Is Over**

It was all very proper and professional; Elanee on one side, Casavir on the other, helping me up to the carriage, traveling with me in their capacity as healers. As I fumbled for balance, I vaguely recalled something Nasher said about suitable rest and rewards, before the ringing in my ears almost made it impossible to hear anything else.

"Definitely a concussion." If my healing magic was like little silver sparkles, Casavir's could be described as waves of soothing deep azure. I could almost hear the sound of it, ebbing and flowing around me in that coach, long after the last sounds of his soft chant passed. His blessedly cool hands held my head up while Elanee tried to get another healing potion down my throat. "Do you see the way her pupils dilate?"

"And I don't care about the way her breathing is so shallow either…" Elanee was clearly concerned. "That first blow might have broken something… Do you think you can help with getting at least the breastplate off so I can check?"

"Only if the driver slows down…" I felt him moving away with a pang of regret, and leaning out the window, saying something to the driver that I couldn't make out from the buzzing in my ears. My eyes wanted to close—I was sleepy, so sleepy…

"Can't do that, my lady." I felt him shaking my shoulder, gently at first, then a bit more forcefully. "Can't sleep just yet, I am afraid. You need to stay awake."

"Why?" I blinked up at him and tried to smile; somehow I ended up sliding down from the seats. Elanee tried to hold me up but with all the metal dragging me down it was rather futile. "I could just fall asleep and dream about you…"

"Concussion." they said in unison above me, then Elanee continued. "Don't worry about what she says, Casavir. If you could just somehow prop her upright, please… Unfortunately she has a tendency to get sleepy from the healing potions, so I could really use some muscle here." I felt being unceremoniously hauled into sitting position again, then my feet lifted onto the cushions. "Yes, thank you. Now, let me try to hold her like this…while you unbuckle those plates…Yes, I am afraid all of the torso armor needs to come off."

This was amusing, really. I let out a small chuckle as I felt fingers fumbling with various buckles and straps and lacing points.

"I said you may take off pieces of my _clothing_…not armor…" I giggled. Everything was spinning a bit, including Casavir's worried face leaning over me. Truly, he looked most splendid from this angle. "And definitely not in public…" I wasn't sure where I even was for a second.

"I think I have some water here. Let me see if that helps; she might be running some fever as well." I heard Elanee saying dryly, then I felt a blessed touch of some cool wetness on my forehead…

…and _pain_ as she touched the side of my face bruised and puffed just above Lorne's cut. With that feeling rational thought returned as well, and I realized a few things.

Not only was I concussed and missing several teeth but also had what felt a mile-wide gash across my face from my mouth up to the corner of my right eye, and a bruise to match over the entire right side of my face. And that, despite the potions and two paladin's own powers, including mine, finally got to me. I needed time for this healing—it was not something that just _got better _in minutes, or even an hour.

"Aw!" I said feebly and lifted a hand to stop her hand dabbing at my wound. "Stop that, it hurts…"

"At least it isn't bleeding any more. The potions finally start to take effect." Elanee was using her most patient tones, talking to me as if to a child. She looked up, over my head, at Casavir. "Okay, now could you get that a bit up, you think?"

"What?" I blinked again, and tried to look down…

I must have blacked out then. When next time I was aware of my surroundings, I felt lighter, and not just because of my concussion, I had to realize. My breastplate, haubergeon, and belt were gone, along with my pauldrons and arm defences, gambeson unbuttoned, pourpoint unlaced.

"Oops. I am kind of rumpled… And this shirt looks ruined." I said giddily. "And it was a brand new one, too…"

"She's slipping back. "Casavir said tersely. "One more healing potion, you think?"

"I don't think so… She had one in the arena, one here in the coach and you also laid a healing on her. The injuries are not _that _severe, and I noticed that lately she had exhibited some odd reaction to healing magic." Elanee's voice sounded like she was floating up and down at the edge of my consciousness.

"Yes, I noticed that, too." They were discussing me in clinical terms, two almost disembodied voices. This would have been kind of funny had I not been woefully weak and kind of half-undressed. "I am not sure if that's because of her own powers rejecting others' or something else…"

"Maybe someone at your Temple should be able to give an answer." Elanee's fingers probed gently at my ribcage. I giggled.

"Sorry. Ticklish." I said and blinked up at Casavir. "Okay, I imagined this a bit differently, but… I guess that was enough clothes off for now, hmmm?" Just at that moment, Elanee found the broken rib she was worried about and I arched my back, inhaling sharply as pain lanced through me.  
"I think that was it." Elanee said apologetically. "I am sorry; I needed to know if you had one broken that was closer to your lungs; it would have needed a different kind of intervention. It should have started healing by now, really…"

"Oh, it did…" I breathed, my eyes tearing up. "I recognize that pain. It's the good one." I remembered what Aevan once told me. "_Pain is my friend_…" I quoted, trying to pull myself up from my back. "What a day… Ow!" My head swam again. "I would swear rather spectacularly now, except that I promised to Father Prior that I would severely limit my cussing."

And that reminded me of something else. "And I gotta go back to the Temple, too."

"I trust you are not planning on that today, my lady?" Casavir asked from somewhere at the edge of my vision.

"Why, do you have other ideas to spend the time?" Somewhere in the depths of my conscious mind, I was horrified by all the things I was saying. But I could not get a control over it—or was it that something in me didn't _want_ to?

"There's no way you should do anything else today but rest and heal." Did I see the corner of his mouth twitch into a smile there? No, it must have been my imagination, because his voice was as stern as it could be.

"And here I was hoping for a candlelit dinner." I sniffed. "I am so sorry. I will claim I am saying inappropriate things due to me being injured, you know…"

"Yes, she's healing now." Elanee sounded a bit more relieved. "Her speech is less slurred; at this point, I think, I can stop worrying." She folded the shirt back on my stomach and gently patted my shoulder. "You should watch what you say, dear, you hear me? Remember that I am here, and everything will be fine."

"Yeah." I muttered sheepishly. I really was getting sleepy. "Sorry. I have no control over the inner voice right now…"I looked up again at Casavir. "I really hope you don't think I…"

"It's all right, my lady." He leaned forward and smoothed some of my hair out of my face. "I am well familiar with the possible effects of head trauma." I felt even more ashamed: of course he did, he probably saw this on the battlefield countless times. "Sometimes I heard things from my wounded comrades that were really not meant for anyone's ears." Suddenly, there was a definite mocking tone in his voice. "Besides, I should be grateful that it's you, not me."

"Pardon?" I blinked, then understanding dawned. I was half-lying there on his lap, definitely not quite well dressed….I remembered all too well that morning when I run into him wearing nothing but a towel and that sweet rush of desire…

Yes. I guess I could blush rather deeply, too.

"Careful, there." Elanee said, deep amusement in her voice. "I am definitely _not _happy with that much blood straight into your face right now, dear." She patted my hand and sighed. "However, I must admit, this is… refreshing. Human emotions can be so… confusing sometimes."

"Tell me all about it." I muttered, deciding that closing my eyes and squeezing them tight was the best solution right now. Come think of it, I was more and more sure I could not quite blame my concussion for this rush of open, almost brutal honesty. I definitely had to ask for advice on whether this was something how two paladins should… conduct their affair once they… well, bluntly put, once they declared their intentions to each other.

"Don't sleep." Elanee warned.

"Not going to." I said, eyes still shut. "I would just prefer to stay this way for a while, if it's all right with everyone."

"Better for healing, anyway." she said. "If you prefer not to talk, that's fine too; muscles can knit better. I don't think you'll scar if you get enough rest."

I didn't even think about Lorne leaving any permanent marks on me. I've never been hurt on my face before, and the way he struck me right there stank of deliberate planning. I winced at the thought; it wasn't a very comfortable one.

I felt strong, calloused fingers wrap around my hand and I was grateful for their warmth.

"You did what you had to do, my lady, and never doubt that for a moment." There was pride in his voice, fierce and joyous. "Scars or not, your deeds on that field will never be forgotten."

_I was somewhat afraid of that_, I wanted to say, since I remembered all too well that feeling of not wanting to run around in the arena like some scared novice during their first real battle. But since my saner self started to reassert itself, I just nodded and kept silent for the remainder of our trip through the streets of Neverwinter.

"Soon it will be Nightal, and the festivities of Winter Solstice shall start. " Casavir tactfully started to talk about something else. I listened to his deep, soothing voice and felt my breathing grow slow and even. "You shall see how truly beautiful this city is, then. I know you don't care much for stone and dead wood, my lady Elanee… but by now you saw all the gardens and parks that lend such fame to Neverwinter that people come from afar to see."

"They are, indeed, beautiful." Elanee said slowly. "I confess I always thought dwellings of men mean nothing but stones and dead wood, just like you said. But this city showed me somewhat different." Her voice took on a bit of a playful edge. "In more than one way, I look on Neverwinter with changed eyes from when our ship landed here months ago."

"I am glad to hear." Casavir said. "I was always taught that one of the reasons Neverwinter had so much connection with Nature in the likes of parks and gardens was the origins of its founders. Did Darmon perchance tell you…?" He paused and I could hear the hesitation in his voice. He wasn't sure how to address this, and his manners got in the way of his desire to carry on the conversation.

"No." I could almost picture Elanee's delicate cheeks coloring. "I don't know much about your city, actually. Would you …?"

"Gladly." I didn't realize just how much he cared about Neverwinter. But it was easy to hear the undertones in his voice now. After all, he was born and raised here, spent the better part of his life learning how to defend it, and how to lead its people, too. As I was laying there, eyes closed, the realization hit me that it must have been almost unimaginably hard for him to leave all of that behind when he fled the city those years ago— with no hope of returning.

_Rather similar to what I felt leaving West Harbor after that night attack, in fact._

That was another thing connecting us, then.

"Those gardens were planted after the first years of constant danger of orc and Northmen attacks passed, and Lord Halueth Never and his band of refugees saw their numbers grow. They wanted to have some memories of their homes whence they were driven out preserved." He paused. "A mixed band of humans and elves, the original Nine and their people, they were. You might have seen some statues around in those gardens, of them."

"I did not realize there were members of the People amongst the founders of this city…" Elanee's voice sounded truly surprised. "It explains much about how I felt in some of those parks…" I heard her taking a deep breath. "I… I think I need to go back, then. And maybe not alone."

"I wouldn't think it would be a lonely excursion." Casavir said warmly, and just then, the distant rattle that signified the coach moving through the streets at a steady pace slowed and then stopped; we have arrived to the _Flagon_.

I was glad she slowly realized this city could offer her more than just enduring it. I remembered how, the first time we chanced upon one of those parks in the Merchant Quarter, her face turned bright with a hesitant smile as if she didn't quite believe her own eyes. I cherished that image—every time we returned from a quest that took us outside of Neverwinter, I was acutely aware how much difference there was between Elanee the druid out in the wild, and Elanee the not-quite-finding-her-place-elf in the big city. Especially after leaving the Mere and her Circle under such circumstances and having lost the voice of her fellow druids… I didn't think we as her companions were quite the substitute for that kind of connection to others.

"El?" I murmured, opening my eyes and slowly sitting up. "I think you should spend more time in those parks, really… a couple of strolls would do you a world of good. I am sure there's a certain member of the Nine who would love to show you the sights."

"You are still wobbly a bit, no doubt." Elanee sighed, but there was laughter bubbling in her voice like a spring creek's cool water amongst mountain rocks. "Let us help you to your room, then; it is officially a resting day for you. You have been ordered so by your Lord Nasher, by the way."

"I don't remember…" I said, as I carefully extracted myself from the seat. "It is all a bit… hazy."

"Understandably so." Elanee stepped out of the couch after accepting Casavir's hand gracefully and turned. "Well, we can talk about it later when you rested and everyone is back--now we just need to get you upstairs."

"I really think I can get out of a coach by myself…" I started, but too late. Strong arms encircled my waist and I got lifted off the coach's doorstep like I was weighing nothing.

'There you go, my lady." He chanced a hesitant smile. "Just to make sure."

I blushed.

"I… thank you." I stammered out; he bowed lightly. Now I really felt like I was a West harbor lass with all of my clumsiness next to his perfect knightly manners. That uneasy feeling stayed with me pretty much all the way while, after an excited and almost visibly shaking Sal let us in, I was helped up to my room. There, after my insistence that I could take care of my remaining pieces of armor and put myself to bed, I was, at last, left alone.

"You just rest, dear." Elanee said, patting my hand for the last time. "The healing potions clearly fixed your concussion, but they also need some time to completely heal your other injuries. I will leave instructions for not disturbing you until you wake. Don't you worry about a thing until then."

I sat on my bed staring at nothing for a while after the door closed behind her with a click, trying not to feel patronized. This happened often while dealing with Elanee. From the very first time I met her, I had to consciously remind myself that she could be my great-great-grandmother: and as such, she inevitably would come across, from time to time, as somewhat condescending. It was very similar with Sand--and yet, right now, Elanee's constant mothering me grated on my nerves like never before.

_Well, it's not that I can change that right now_, I thought, slowly undoing the last on my armor pieces and peeling off my gambeson and pourpoint. I must confess, I wasn't even bothering with the shirt or the shoes--by the time I finished shedding everything else, I was too exhausted to care. I was amazed that I actually made my bed before I left for my trial--I had no memory of that at all. With drooping eyelids, I fell across the top of my quilt, and I think I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

I surfaced from some confused dreams to the sound of steady knocking on my door.

"I am _not _decent!" I yelled out the first thing that came to my mind.

"I dinna care, lass, I've seen ye half-naked, bleedin' from gut wounds enough, remember?" Khelgar barged in before I could do anything but grab the quilt and pull it up to my chin. A tattered shirt and my boots were not exactly attire in which to receive visitors, even I could recognize that breach of etiquette there. But Khel was right; as my oldest traveling companion, he'd certainly seen more of me than he ever cared for.

"Khel, what a nice surprise." I aid, as courteously as I could, sitting up carefully. "Thank you for the wake-up visit; to what do I…?"

"Ye slept fer a day, lass, it's time to come out an' play." He stood here in the middle of my room, hands on hips. "Looks like yer wounds are healed an' nice."

I cautiously peeked into my mirror standing in the corner of my room. Yes, my face has healed. I could even feel most of my teeth the same way the were before. I let out a sigh; I am sure I would have been able to live with a scar, but it was good to know I dodged this particular blow. At the same time I had to realize that although the god's marks on me had faded somewhat, they definitely had stayed. Not quite like tattoo marks; more like wrinkles with some fine sparkles as the light hit them from different angles.

"Yer uncle is most anxious to discuss the details of the festivities with ye." Khelgar said, trying for some floweriness in speech. I jerked my head towards him.

"What festivities?" I looked around to see if there were any clean clothes about that I could reach without getting up, but Khelgar was already rummaging through my chest without as much as asking for permission.

"Come on, lass." he rumbled as he tossed a shirt and the blue outfit Hassim made over his head-- they landed on the bed next to me. "Everyone's on the edge. Get a move on."

"Um, Khel…" I stuck a booted feet out from under the quilt. "Let me ask this again: what festivities? Are we celebrating something?"

He turned and glared at me with narrowed eyes.

"Jestin' with me, aren't ye?" He shook his head. "Or that concussion of yours was stronger than that slip of an elf thought. Yer victory, lass, yer triumph! Duncan's all in a tizzy decoratin'." He grinned into his beard. "Of course, it doesn't help that Shandra and Neeshka decided they are his assistants in this or somethin'. Sal is busy pourin' drinks, there are also at least a dozen bouquets and fancy cards with golden writin' on them downstairs fer ye…" He scratched his head. "Of course, I am not supposed to tell ye this, but I figured I slip out and wake ye, since it has been a day…"

"Huh?" I shook my head; I was afraid I misheard him, but no, I definitely was healed and even felt as well as ever. I tried to summarize what I heard, just to make sure. "So-- I slept for a day, they want to have a party, and I have… flowers?"

"Basic'ly." Khelgar tapped his steeled boots on my floor. "You gonna dress or what?"

"Only if you get out, Khel." I looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"Hmmpffh." he harrumphed, and flashed me a brief smile. "You dinna used have such fancy manners, lass. I wonder whose education is that."

With that, he was gone. I could hear the sound of his footsteps as he hurried down the corridor and down the stairs--there was a lot of steel in those boots.

I couldn't quite figure out what to make of that--but since I didn't have much of the facts, I decided to wait until I could at least see what was going on. I did not particularly relish the idea of partying about someone's death, and definitely not celebrating myself… but as I was slowly putting on actual clothing, I could see it from others' perspective and I could almost hear Sand's voice in my head. "_You ought to play the game, dear girl, and this is just as much part of it."_

I just got to the point of buttoning up the jacket when there was another set of knocking on my door.

"Yes, I am decent now, whatever else Khelgar told you." I called out in a somewhat nervous voice and hastily picked up a hairbrush. Well before I could actually hear the knock, I could feel the tentative brush of his silver-blue aura all the way down the hallway.

"Khelgar just told us you are awake, my lady." I cold guess that he decided not to hear that sentence, and while I figured that selective hearing of his might annoy me sooner or later, right now I was, yet again, grateful for the tactfulness.

" I…" He smoothed down his hair with that nervous gesture of his that I only ever saw whenever he talked to me. "…I thought you might have rested enough and would perhaps like… something to eat? And if, perhaps, I could accompany you?"

"Sure." I nodded, realizing I was still holding my hairbrush, but not using it.

_Get it together, Arrighan. _

"If you just give me a moment here…" I said airily, turning back to my mirror, and hoping I sounded natural, "…I shall be ready in a moment. Khelgar literally just woke me up, and…"

"Oh." He stepped back. "I didn't meant to disturb. I can certainly come back lat…"

I sighed.

"I thought we already established that you were not disturbing me. Ever." I said over my shoulder, while trying to untangle my hair. "And please, do come in from the doorstep, that was bad manners from me." I glanced in the mirror to see if he would close the door behind himself, and hid my smile behind the curtain of my hair when I saw that he did.

"Khelgar made sure your armor is cleaned an polished…" he said tentatively. "It is down in our equipment room. And there are two chests downstairs that were delivered for you."

"Hmmm?" I had a particularly awful knot in my hair that resisted most persistently.

"By palace guards." he said, and there was something in the tone of his voice that made me look up. "The chests, of course, are unopened and waiting for you."

"Palace guards." I said slowly and put the hairbrush down, trying to think. "That means they were from Nasher, and…"

"By right and custom, the equipment of the defeated champion belongs to the winner." He nodded, finishing my thought.

"I suppose I have to accept." I turned from my mirror and sat down on my bed. "But I don't have to like it."

"No, you don't, my lady." He hesitated before continuing. "That's what I told him, too."

"Him?" It took me a while to understand what that meant, but when I did, I had a smile spreading on my face. "You went to see Lord Nasher, didn't you?"

He nodded.

"We… had a discussion, yes." There was no one in Faerun who could have put it quite like that. Then again, there was definitely no one in Faerun who could make me grin like a complete and utter idiot either, except him.

"Thank you." I said, clearing my throat a bit. "That… I realize that was probably a hard thing to do, but…"

"But it was necessary." He shook his head. "And you were right, my lady… as you usually are. We…" he was looking for words. "It turned out we can see more eye to eye now." He shrugged. "Methinks those years in the wilderness did me good, after all."

"Oh?" I blushed a bit at his underhanded compliment at me while pinning my hair on top of my head and cast a look around to see if my cloak was somewhere. I could spot it almost right away, neatly folded on my only chair--which explained why Casavir was still standing, since that was the only other place to sit in my room. "How's that?" I felt the awkwardness ease out of me, and I hoped that the same thing was happening to him.

"Well… I had time to think it over now." He picked up my cloak and handed it to me almost absentmindedly. "I can see more of his side. And he could see more of mine. All that time trying to come to terms with…" That shrug again. "With what happened, and me blaming him, and he blaming me. While, really, it all was…"

"…Pride?" I suggested quietly, spreading my cloak on my shoulders.

"Indeed." He nodded. "But protecting the people at Old Owl Well, and traveling with you has helped to rein that in." I heard a faint chuckle in his voice. "I might have had a lot more of my father in me than I thought…"

"Blood is blood." I put a hand on his arm, encouraged by just how openly he talked, and that, judging by that little chuckle, his wounds indeed were healing almost as fast as mine knitted overnight. "It's part of you, Lord Korranos." To his credit, he only flinched a bit when I called him by the name that was by right, his. "At least you know who your parents were…"

I didn't think I had too much bitterness in my voice as I said that, but I might have been wrong, because he turned to me with a sudden intensity in his gaze.

"My lady." he said. "Does that…truly pain you that much?" His clear blue eyes searched my face, and like so many times before, I was helpless under their scrutiny again.

I found that I was unable to answer in any other way but standing there and enduring that look that pierced the innermost veils of my soul, it seemed.

"Yes." he said quietly after a while, and nodded to himself. "I can see it does. Now, please, tell me this, and tell me true: would you mind if I was wearing the same shoes? Would you care about where I came from, had my parentage would be as unknown or less fortunate?"

"I…" I drew a sharp breath as I realized that yet again, he found the fountainhead from where some of my deepest fears sprung. "I would not. I know you for…who you are, and not for where you came from. Although that certainly influenced you, it does not define who you _are_."

"And that is _truth_." He took my hand in his, and smiled. "I wouldn't think any less of you, my lady, just because a cruel accident of Fate denied you the family you so rightly deserve."

_Us, paladins_… I shook my head and felt myself smile. _Truly, I had better get used to this_.

"So: no doubt Khelgar informed you that your uncle has designed a veritable feast for your honor?" He changed that subject again… and I had no other choice but to follow. But he still held my hand in his, and I relished that feeling. I could almost sense little sparkles of silver in the air again, as a strange warmth settled over my aura.

"And I must confess that I thought about raising a fuss about that." I said, truthfully. "I have no desire to celebrate something that is…"

"There will be time for that later, my lady." he said, eyes serious again. "And don't think for a moment that I don't understand why you might be reluctant to feel… joyous about what took place in the arena yesterday. However, just like I told you in the coach yesterday, you did what you had to do, and admirably so. I would think you owe it to the memory of all those in Ember to celebrate _life _today, and plan about announcing a death to a mother tomorrow."

"How… how do you…?" I stammered, bewildered. I never talked about it, but that was exactly how I planned it. I wanted to be the one who told Retta Starling about her son--that even though I did not strike the killing blow, Lorne was just as good as dead, and perhaps in a worse way than my sword would ever have finished his life.

"You know the meaning of honor and duty more thoroughly than most people I've met in my life." he said with a sad little smile. "And while, as you so rightly pointed out to me, my lady, I have the tendency of setting you up on a pedestal you think you don't deserve…" I felt myself blushing again, remembering me shouting at him in the tent at the tourney field, "…I know I am right in this." He tilted his head on one side and his slow smile now definitely sent shivers up and down my spine. "So, if you allow me to quote your own words back at you: perhaps you need to 'relax'?"

I laughed then, and let him lead me out of the room, down the hallway and down the stairs, into the loud, smoky and filled-to-the-brim warmth of the Sunken Flagon's common room.

"At least for today." I said quietly to him after accepting about three dozen handshakes, shoulder clapping, respectful salutes and other well wishes from people I knew and some I've never met before. "At least for today, I will try."

"I could ask for no more, my lady." He nodded. "And thank you; I know that all your friends here are truly glad to see you coming through this ordeal unharmed in spirit."

"For them, then." I sipped on the sweet, potent spicy mulled wine Duncan handed to me after almost crushing my ribs with a surprisingly powerful hug, and I remembered something that made me chuckle into my cup. "And you know, maybe I'll _try _not to think about those flowers and cards Khelgar mentioned, at least until tomorrow."

It was, I admit, rather satisfying to see the expression that spread on his face after that--but he recovered in the next second, as his next sentence proved rather spectacularly.

"Perhaps… I could help you to sort through them, my lady?" he asked, after clearing his throat. "I am sure there are a lot of invitations or requests for visit, and my knowledge of the city might serve you well."

"That would be splendid." I said and really tried not to have that idiotic smile all over my face again.

Just then, I heard Grobnar striking up a tune that I was familiar with from the West Harbor Harvest Fairs, and, however odd the fact that he knew that tune seemed, I lost the battle with my grin with such finality that it even surprised me.

"And now, my lord…" I said, seized by a sudden impulse, putting my cup down and sliding off my chair, "…would you do me the honor…?" I jerked my head towards the middle of the floor where there already been about half a dozen couples dancing. "I would like to see if I still remember the steps of this one."

I could definitely see little sparks dancing in his eyes as he took up my challenge, and my heartbeat sped up as he linked his arm in mine.

"I shall see if I can do that without bringing you shame, my lady." he said with a serious face. "I, however, need to insist on one thing."

"Oh?" I said absent-mindedly. I started towards the floor, but had to stop as he wasn't moving. I turned towards him with raised eyebrows. "Is there a problem?"

"Like I said; just one thing, my lady." The sparkles in his eyes increased as he lifted my hand to his lips. "I lead."


	34. Tell Me When

-1**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections. It really helps me to get better, so please feel free to leave a review. Thanks for all of those who have already done so—you guys are great!**

**There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things. **

**For this chapter, I used the following songs as inspiration: _Janus Breaks_, from Jeff Beal's _Rome _soundtrack; _Queen of the Sun _from Angels of Venice's album, _Angels of Venice_; _Pure Love _by Zucchero and Dolores Riordan from _Zucchero & Co_.; and _Breslau _from Brave Combo's _Polkas for a Gloomy World _album (sorry, more oddness looms)…**

**And the usual wishful thinking: I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… The Pendwyr girl is entirely my fault, though. J**

**Chapter Thirty-Four- Tell Me When**

I lost count of how many times I trod on his feet during that relatively simple round dance. I kept apologizing, and he kept telling me that no, really, it was quite all right. I am sure that all of our friends were deeply amused by that; I could see Shandra grinning at me all the way from the other side of the Flagon as she, surprisingly enough, agreed to sing some to Grobnar's tunes. She had an amazingly beautiful voice, soaring and clear. I caught Duncan looking at her with pride and gentleness in his eyes, and that made my heart squeeze with the beauty of it, secretly ashamed of witnessing something so intimate.

"You cannot possibly expect me to believe you escaped unharmed from me jumping all over the place." I said now, flustered and frustrated, as I finished my second and last cup of hot mulled wine. Somehow, we ended up in our equipment room, amongst about a dozen towering bouquets and a stack of neatly folded thick sheets of paper. The air was thick with the mingling scent of roses, violets, carnations, lilies and about half a dozen other kinds of flowers I could not even name.

I fussed with the tinderbox and a couple of candles we always kept here so we can survey the situation better.

"That was, quite possibly, worth a prize of 'worst dancer, ever' for me." I shook my head. "So don't tell me your poor feet don't hurt, because paladins don't lie." I felt a bit overheated, so off came the jacket, neatly spread over the back of a spare chair.

"Very well. "he nodded, and sat down, stretching his legs under the table. "The truth, and nothing but the truth, hm?"

"Yeah, I can take it." I surveyed the table, almost completely covered in various vases and flowers. "I wonder how long it took Shandra to arrange all of it… By Chauntea's sweet garlands, this is a _lot_!"

"Well, you _are_ something of a hero right now, my lady. " he remarked, carefully balancing the tone of his voice. "It stands to reason that you should receive the flowers of Neverwinter."

I snorted, most unlady-like, but elected not to answer, while shuffling through a few of the notes to hid my embarrassment over that compliment. Most of them had gold edges, their wax seals bearing crests on various complexity, and they were addressed to this 'The Honorable Squire Arrighan Pendwyr' I still wasn't quite sure I knew.

"Let me see." he offered, holding out a hand. "Maybe I can tell you who sent some of those without even having to open?"

"Oh, you mean you can identify the seals? That would be handy." I carried the entire stack next to him. "This ought to be better than risking breaking your foot out there, so sure, go ahead."

"All you need is some more practice, my lady." he said mildly, quickly sorting the stack into a couple of small piles, barely glancing at the wax seals.

"And you need thicker boots." I murmured to myself, but he heard me, and sighed, tossing the thick cream-colored note he held in his hand down on the table, and turned to face me.

I looked at him, surprised; I did not expect such a strong reaction to that little remark.

"I _was _about to volunteer to educate you in the fine art of courtly dancing, but there is only so much self-belittling and doubt I can bear from you." he said slowly. "Yes, you trod on my feet often enough, but no, I did not get offended. Yes, you are not dancing well, but no, you did not have much opportunity to learn. I am assuming that apart from a couple of your Harvest Fairs you didn't have the chance to practice. Furthermore, dancing lessons don't exactly belong to a paladin's curriculum, so your teacher could have hardly furthered your education in this regard. Yes, I learned those as a noble house's heir and no, I doubt you would have difficulties mastering any of the steps, considering you are not a halfwit like some of those scions of interbred Houses often prove to be."

He stood up with one smooth movement and glared at me. I could feel waves of irritation emanating from his aura, and I was wondering what exactly set him off this strongly.

"Do you wish to hear more of my assessment, or, assuming you give me your permission, should we move on to opening these letters and see who might have invited you to their annual balls in the upcoming month?"

I stared at him open-mouthed for about five heartbeats before I could even talk.

"Shandra was right." I said when I found my voice at last, remembering one of those conversations with her. "You _can_ be a magnificent and overwhelming bastard, Casavir Korranos, when you set your heart to it." I tried to make light of it and get us back to the easy tone of the evening before. "I should have suspected way back at Old Owl Well when I heard you bossing Katriona around."

"You should have thought about that, then, before you accepted my service." While he did not seem to be offended by me calling him names, at the same time I could see in his eyes that he was serious. Killing this particular bird with the stone of jesting was out of the question. "Now, are there any other qualities of mine you wish to discuss?" he asked, with a defiant set of his chin.

I leaned closer, losing my train of thought and just parrying for the moment.

"At the moment, I don't think that would be appropriate." I measured between my teeth. I noticed that since he launched into his little sermon, he did not call me 'my lady' even once. I wondered if that marked a change for real in what was still tentative between us, if we were truly in for a fight here…or what? Since I was confused and felt like I lost my footing, I cast back to my training and went for the offensive. "And if _this _is the tone I should expect from you in the future, then…"

"Ye-es?" He leaned even closer, azure eyes glinting with some emotion I could not quite decipher. "Are you already regretting something? Don't you think that's a rather blatant double standard right there?" I felt my head jerk back from the force of that question. "_You _can yell at me for my perceived errors and failings but I cannot call you out on something I can see preventing you to become what you meant to be?"

He took a deep breath and his eyes bore into me like never before. His voice, so warm and comforting just minutes ago, now took on the cadences of cool logic, ringing with the knowledge of '_this too, could be'_. I had no choice but to stand there and take it.

"You can't have it both ways, Arrighan, so it comes down to this. It's either you on a pedestal, soaring in the heights of your celestial heritage as _aasimar _and Tyr's Chosen and I am on my knees, not even raising my eyes to look at you as your dutiful Champion, forever devoted but never allowed to show more than adoration; or me in a palace as heir to a city's ruler and you as a forever country bumpkin hedge-paladin, shackled by her own feelings of insecurity, the two of us never becoming more than mutual allies in the service of a god to whom we are both devoted."

Both of those images were so vivid that I flinched, seeing them in my mind as clear as I could see him standing there, stern and serious, laying it out in front of me like an offering so I can see and understand.

_So this was what he meant when he said 'we will talk' back in that tent at the arena_, flittered through my mind, and I felt a small sob escaping me unwittingly.

I should have known, of course.

With his unerring sight and his senses of right and wrong given to him by our god, he found the doubts and weaknesses of my heart and shone light on them as clear and piercing as I probed into the soul of Torio Claven in Nasher's Great Hall just two days ago.

His hand came up to rest on my shoulder then and that cold voice softened.

"Or, and make no mistake about it that I'd fight for _this _till the end: us as equals. You holding my heart and I yours, knowing that we can count on each other in every possible way; that we can dream and hope and live with one another." He shook his head. "And it's best if you and I come clean on this right now. I would not have it otherwise."

"I…" I stammered out, as understanding dawned. _This _was honesty and openness, the exact things I asked, nay, demanded so many times with and without words from him. Every time I asked whether he was with me, every time I asked him to share part of his past, every time he stood by me during my road that led here, we were traveling towards this moment, arriving inevitably now, when I was at last free of the largest threat looming over my head and which occupied most of my mind in these past weeks.

I saw him as a holy warrior first, then as a companion, later as a purebred noble of the highest rank, and then, at last, as a man I've grown to have feelings for… but was I really ready to accept him as _all _of those, _and _a friend to be trusted with everything I had besides? The meaning of what he said was clear. We could not stand a chance in what was to come, if neither him nor I were willing to accept that while the other was greater than ourselves in some regards, we could, and will be, equals in that possible future that included an 'us'.

And that possible future could not be, if this, now, was not decided. And _that_ I couldn't abide.

I had the courage to fight evil and to aid those who were in need. Did I have the courage now, truly, to be ready to face what I was, what I truly can be, and set foot on that road, hand in hand with someone else?

I cast about for something, anything to give me guidance… and my eyes alighted on one of the vases on the table full of tall, slender roses almost the same color as those thick paper invitations—palest cream with a hint of yellow, their dark green stem full of thick thorns. What was it in one of those romances Amie read to me… the vow Queen Wywar and Sir Eloth exchanged?

Without a word, I turned, and, led by a sudden, mad impulse, I pulled out two of those flowers by their heads, not touching the stems just yet. Something in me emitted a faint chuckle, thinking that he probably will recognize this at once, given where he came from. It was one of those things preserved in romances that echoed older, deeper rituals, but which, in a much different form, were present in every paladin's vows, dedicating themselves to their gods.

_Fine_, I heard myself whispering inward, defiantly. _You want answers; I give you one you surely will understand. I give you one I truly want to give; one that I always wanted to give to the man I always knew I'd meet one day._

I turned back to face him, roses in hand. I closed my palm slowly around the stems, felt the thorns pricking my skin, and inhaled sharply as blood started to seep through my closed fingers, welcoming the pain just as much as I welcomed the feeling of clarity blossoming in its wake.

I was right; he understood at once what it was that I was doing. I could see the knowledge arrive to his eyes, forcing him to take a deep, shuddering breath and take a little step backwards as if I'd done something that frightened him.

Normally I would have picked up on that and stop, ask him what was wrong, but truthfully, I was so intent on showing him what I meant, what I _wanted _this to mean, what I hoped it meant for both of us, that I simply ignored it.

"Equals." I said in a clear voice, stepping closer, forcing him to stop. My other hand rose, clasping his left hand by the wrist, lifting it up to my bleeding left while I recited the exact pledge he vowed to me after revealing his life's bitterest secrets. "In need or in plenty, in peace or in war, in living or in dying, from this day forward, until I am released, or until death takes me." My fingers, entwined with his, tightened, allowing the thorns to pierce his skin as well.

I felt his hand tense as his blood mingled with mine between the green stems and our joined palms. But he didn't pull away; after a moment I felt his fingers returning the pressure from mine, and he bridged the short distance separating us, sliding his free arm around my waist.

"With my blood I vow this. With my voice, I proclaim this." I leaned forward and, for the briefest moment, brushed my lips against his. "With this kiss, I seal this."

His silver-and-blue aura and my silver-and-crimson flared up at the same time with such intensity that I felt almost blinded in the real world as well as in the astral realm. My hands slackened their grip, the roses fell to the floor between us and I closed my eyes, yielding to the fire that woke in his eyes.

_By all that's holy, what have I done?_

"_Truth_." he said hoarsely as he drew me close to him. "From this day forward. "

My heart was beating so fast, so fast…

"Ah, my lady…" His warm breath was tickling my face, and I was standing there, every inch of my body trembling, reeling from what just woke between us, from the sensation of him pressing against me, his right hand slowly sliding up along my spine, trailing silver sparkles in its wake as it finally arrived at the nape of my neck. His fingers buried in my hair, he pulled me even closer to bridge that inch that separated us…

He tasted of mulled wine, sandalwood, and the power, thunder and storm of the god… like the sun when you see it after a dark and long starless night, like hope after losing your way, like seeing your home the first time after being away on a long journey, like all the joyous and happy moments of my life gathered and focused into one bright and blazing ray of light.

He held my face cupped in his palm as we separated, our foreheads touching. I still felt little silver sparkles of our commingling aura along my spine, and I could see the same sparkles dancing in his eyes as I finally looked at him. I couldn't help myself: that wide, silly grin spread all across my face and my heart leapt as I saw something very similar tugging at hip lips as well.

"Remind me, please…" I whispered as I finally find my voice, "…to read those old romances a bit more carefully next time, would you?"

"There is that." He cleared his throat. "And I am afraid I also have to remind both of us…" I shivered again as his lips brushed mine ever so lightly again. I felt my hands gripping the collar of his shirt, yearning to pull him closer."…that we supposed to…" another brush, even more sweet and tantalizing than the one before, "… and I quote, 'take it slow…'"

It was an almost physically painful process to let go; whatever it was that I invoked with that vow, had a definite hold on us. I knew that what made it really powerful was that we _already _had the connection, on which the spell could feed.

But we were paladins, dedicated to Tyr, trained in discipline and steeling of the will.

"Tyr bless Father Prior..." I sighed wistfully and gave him a quick, hard hug before pulling away "…but he's right." I winced as I felt the burning sensation of my thorn-punctured palm finally registering.

"Your poor hand, my lady." he said gently, taking my left hand between his palms. "Allow me to fix that." His murmured words of power slid across my palm, his healing magic undoing the work of the thorns.

"Can I… return the favor?" I asked hesitantly. "I hope we didn't get blood all over you…"

"That would take quite some explaining, indeed." He bent his head, watching my fingers trailing their silver energy over the thorn prickles on his hand.

"Note to self: consult Aldanon on ancient magic found in romances that really should not be read by sixteen-year old village girls." I didn't realize I was saying that out loud until I heard his deep, low, rumbling laughter.

"One of these days, you will have to tell me the story behind how do you even know about it." He smiled at me: his eyes were clear and his face free of most of the cares that he allowed to pile up for so long.

"It is a deeply embarrassing story, really." I confessed, lifting my head, feeling easier somehow. "My friend Amie had a great fondness for the tales of King Ertos and his knights, and so…"

"Ah. I see." He nodded and run his newly healed hand through his hair. "Depending on which versions were available to you, that, dare I say it, explains a lot?" He turned to the table, letting go of my hand with his other rather reluctantly. "Not that I didn't read the entire Cycle myself right about that age during a summer vacation, mind you."

"And that just proves that there are little pockets of our past that best remain hidden for now. " I looked at him. "Should I apologize now, and profusely?" My voice sounded just as fragile and tentative as I felt.

"Oh, no." He shook his head, mirth still dancing in his eyes. "After all, you gave me the answer I was looking for, my lady."

"Well I _hope_ so." The words were out before I could have stopped them. "As I have never even been kissed before…"

"I…" He cleared his throat and turned away quickly, his cheeks slightly colored. I've never, ever seen a man blush this much, not even Bevil, who was rather shy most of the time, except with Lena Buckman.

"Well, it is true. I wasn't. "Once I started, I knew I couldn't stop. I swallowed, still amazed how uncomfortable he looked when discussing something like this. "It's not exactly like I had options, you know." I shook my head. "I was a freak. No, please don't tell me I wasn't because you weren't there." I said a bit louder. That one was still a touchy subject. "And once I started apprenticing to Aevan, I got even more isolated. Hitting puberty shortly thereafter certainly complicated matters. I told you about Retta Starling's hayloft, right? That was where a lot of the boys and girls went to… well, kissing and a little exploration is the best way to put it." I snickered, remembering. "I went to borrow some equipment one day, Retta let me to just go and take whatever we wanted pretty much… so in I walk and there are these sounds and up pops two heads from the hayloft… and I remember running back to Retta's house and yelling something like 'ewww, Aunt Retta, Bevil is up there with Lena and they are…'" I stopped and looked at him guiltily. "Sorry. I… am just honest and I can see this makes you uncomfortable…" Suddenly I had this horrible sinking feeling that I hurt him. " I didn't meant to offend…"

"Oh, I know that." He sat down on his chair again, sighed and I could see how he tried to relax his shoulders. "I am just… a rather private person, my lady, and…"

"Crap." I said impatiently and sat down on the chair next to him. "I can't be doing very good here if I am making you this uncomfortable. I just have to look at your shoulders all bunching up and know." He threw a started look at me. _Ha! I bet you didn't know just how much you gave away with your body language,_ I thought with a brief flash of triumph, and I knew that he would be watching it from now on. "Fine, we won't talk about my total and utter inexperience…"

"Which, incidentally, would explain what just happened today." I could recognize the expression on his face: it wasn't exactly guarded or mask-like, but definitely a more distant one then just a few minutes ago. He tried to take this academically.

"You mean the… vow thing?" I asked, almost sheepishly.

"The 'vow thing'." He shook his head. "Your choice of words is a bit… peculiar, but I believe you have the essence of it." He shrugged. "There's no point dwelling on whether you were right or wrong with it; it is done." Now it was my turn feeling distinctly uncomfortable. He raised a hand in a placating gesture, and that carefully neutral look on his face loosened enough that some traces of the fire blazing in them just minutes ago crept back into his eyes. "Let's just say that it could have been handled a little less… exuberantly? I am sure that there were no commentaries included with your version of that particular part of the Ertorian Cycle, otherwise you'd have known that Sunite and Chauntean joint magic is not something to be taken lightly."

So _that's _what it was. I blushed, turning my chair towards the table and looking at one of the piles of papers to hide the spectacular wave of embarrassment that overtook me. He was, of course, right. Now that I looked at it with the eyes of one versed in sacred magic, I could see the characteristic marks all over. Old magic indeed, invoking not one, but _two _greater goddesses with blood shed while reciting the words... I shivered at the thought of what'd have happened if I had gotten the timing of it right, or the little details they most assuredly omitted from the cheap copied version Amie got from Gods-know-where.

_Amie…_

_Oh, gods, how she would snicker now_…The thought came unbidden and bittersweet, followed by the piercing feel of loss I still felt over her death, buried under the sediment of events from the past months since the night of Highharvesttide.

_Nope, not a bone of arcane talent in ya, Rig…_I heard her voice as clear as if she was standing next to me, leaning over my shoulder. _Sorry. But you still smell like Power… It's just… not the type I have. Did you ever ask Brother Merring?_

"Wow." I exhaled loudly, trying to assuage that pang of sadness. "Well, I better brush up on some reading in my copious spare time, then."

"Maybe getting an original copy of the Cycle would be useful." He shook his head. "Had I known you were familiar with them…"

"Hmmm?" I leafed through the pile of papers absent-mindedly.

"Just thinking out loud." I felt the warmth of him as he pulled his chair closer. "Those are the ones that are probably invitations to various Yule events." He inclined his head towards the stack I held in my hand. "Quite a number of them; if you want to go over them now, we might as well."

"Oh, sure." I slid the pile in front of him. "Here, go ahead and start opening. I have no idea what they are or what am I supposed to do with them."

"Oh, Yule ball invitations?" He took one up and pulled out his dagger from his belt, expertly sliding it under the seal. "Well, you probably will have to accept some of them at least. They are harmless. Mostly."

"_Mostly_." I regarded the pieces of paper as if they were poison bottles. "I understand that they involve… dancing, gossip trading, fancy foods and ogling each other's dresses? At least that's what I heard." I hastened to add.

"Well, let me see." he glanced at me and no there was definite amusement in his eyes. "Dancing we can handle, I think, and yes, I will get sturdy boots. I promise." I noticed that 'we' in that sentence, and grinned happily. "That is, of course, if you allow me to accompany you." he added with impeccable courtesy. "You are usually invited to bring an…escort."

"Escort." I said, tasting that word on the tip of my tongue with rather dubious feelings. "Wouldn't you get your own invitation now that…"

"I probably will, to some of them." he said thoughtfully. "Were you thinking about taking someone else with you, perhaps?"

"No, silly." I elbowed him gently in the ribs. " Why, were you?"

He chose not to answer that directly except with a raised eyebrow that made me grin widely again.

"Now, speaking about the other activities you listed, my lady…" he continued smoothly after a moment of silence where we just stared into each other's eyes, "…gossip trading you definitely would not have any trouble with. I know you are rather good with words. Fancy foods, now…" he tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Table manners can be handled much the same as dancing: with practice You already have the keep-the-elbows-down part handled, together with the napkin problem you seemed to have when we first met."

I blushed again.

"Yes, my table manners…" I mumbled. "I suspect I'll need additional lessons there as well."

"Probably." he nodded. I appreciated the hells out of him just giving it to me straight and simple. "And new dresses."

Now _that _I didn't particularly like.

"_Dresses_." I looked at him with eyes narrowed, emphasizing that plural, and I felt some of my West Harbor brogue creeping back. "If I didn't know better, Casavir Korranos, I'd be thinking…"

And then, the inevitable knock on the door arrived. Also inevitably, there was no pause between the last knock and the door's opening, and that's how I knew, even before I spotted her standing in the doorway, that it was my favorite tiefling.

"Hey, sorry to disturb the…" Her red eyes widened as she took in the scene.

"Yes, Neesh?" I looked at her, and I think I managed the eyebrow lift sufficiently to at least briefly veer her mind off the path it was so obviously bent on taking. "You're not disturbing, we were just going through these stupid letters. How's the party going?"

"It's…" She actually stammered. I hid a smile; it was not often that I could get the upper hand over her in something like this. "It's…going." She came further into the room, hands on hips, kicking the door shut with her feet. "I can't believe this. You _really _are working through those…"

"Yes, we do." I said patiently. "I was just informed that I need to fix my table manners and get some new dresses, too."

"Ha!" She grinned. "Trials and tribulations of being one of the nobility, huh?" She fiddled with the tip of her tail. " Anyhow, the reason I am here…" she tried to hide her mirth and failing rather spectacularly, " is because, well, we thought you might actually benefit from this, too, given that Sand said you will now have to go to balls and stuff, and…"

"Neesh." I said, feigning exasperation. Somehow I suspected this joke was on me, again. "If I can just have the short version, please? Have you seen that stack of invitations in front of Casavir?"

"_Waltz_." Neeshka said, with a slight giggle in her voice as if that word explained everything. Behind her, I could hear some faint echoes of some rather catchy music filtering in from the common room. "I didn't know it either, apparently it's this new thing that came in from Waterdeep just this summer and as you know, I was… umm… I had to leave town for a while, so…" She shrugged. "But I am told it's all the rage and it has started as a peasant dance and now it goes through the noble circles like a wildfire. Fashion, you know…" She waved her hand vaguely. "Well, from all the people here, only Darmon and Qara seem to know it, so they…"

"Hold." I stood up slowly, staring at her like I've seen her the first time. "Did you just say _Qara _knows how to dance…?"

"I am not surprised at all." Casavir put the stack of papers down and stood, too. "Remember where she came from."

"Do they really teach waltzing at the Academy?" I giggled while picking up my jacket from the chair. "No, don't answer that, I really don't want to know the details of how the wayward daughter of a distinguished faculty member at the Academy got acquainted with a dance that causes such stir in the upper circles of society." I patted my hair a bit absent mindedly. "Well, at any rate… I think Neeshka is probably right and we shouldn't start working on the very evening when everyone wants to celebrate."

"Hey, trust me, I _know _that you'd rather just skipped this." the tiefling said, suddenly serious. "After all, you told us who this Lorne fellow was. And, erm, every one of us really appreciates that you were such a good sport and went along with the party anyway."

"Really, sweetling." I said fondly and gave her a quick hug. "It is I who should thank you all for this, and for so much more."

"Um…thanks, Rig…" she said awkwardly. "If you don't mind…can we go? I…not that I generally have problems hanging out with my two favorite paladins, but…" She squirmed a bit. "It's just that right now somehow…your auras feels a lot stronger, almost kind of…glowy, and this is an enclosed place. I am itchy like hells."

"I am sorry, Neesh, that was thoughtless of me." I stepped back and let her open the door. "Of course." I tried not to think why she felt out auras much stronger now than usual. _Glowy_… I thought, vaguely amused as we stepped out to the loudness of the common room and were swept up by an enthusiastic crowd, including a rather bossy Qara and a deeply amused Sir Darmon insisting that we take up our place in the circle of those who were willing to learn the steps to what Qara called '_proper _Waterdhavian waltz, none of this bastardized street version Amn tries to popularize'. _I feel glowy, she is right. I don't know.. .could that be because I am , for once, happy?_

The word tasted strange and a bit unfamiliar, especially in the light of what happened in the past weeks.

But I was willing to give it a try.


	35. Like Thunder Needs Rain

-1**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections. It really helps me to get better, so please feel free to leave a review. Thanks for all of those who have already done so—you guys are great!**

**There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things. **

**The music, for those interested, now: the waltz is _Breslau _from Brave Combo's _Polkas for a Gloomy World_; and I also used U2's _Hawkmoon 26_9 from _Rattle and Hum_, and _Passacaglia _from Bear McCreary's _Battlestar Galactica I _soundtrack.**

**And the usual wishful thinking: I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… The Pendwyr girl is entirely my fault, though. J**

**Chapter Thirty-Five: Like Thunder Needs Rain**

Waltzing was… different. The steps were not that complicated; in fact just about all the dances I have learned back in West Harbor (not that there were many), had more difficulty in them. Still, I could understand immediately how it had caused such stir, and, at the same time, why the young members of nobility took to it so readily.

In all court dances, and most of the country dances, you barely touched your partner. If you took _pavane_ or _basse danse_, for instance: you touched fingertips, occasionally both hands when changing positions, but that's it. In the more bold "peasant dances", as they were labeled, that I watched at Harvest Fairs when mead from Lazlo Buckman's barrels started to flow a bit more freely, there were some arm links and perhaps a few carefully placed twirls that always caused appreciative hooting amongst the audience.

"_What_, now?" I glared at Qara as she repeated her instructions with her 'are you THAT daft?' look on her face I knew so well.

"One hand on shoulder, the other linked, held out, like so…"she said again, grabbing my hand and indicating where I should be putting it on Casavir's shoulder. "And if the lord would gently place his hand on the lady's waist…"

"I had no idea you could talk like that, little sorceress." I had to roll my eyes at that. Trust the ranger to amble up at the first opportunity, with tankard of ale in hand and just a bit unsteady on his feet. "Shit, this looks fun enough to try just to chase away boredom." His hazel eyes sparkled up with the warmth of a snowstorm.

"Put the tankard down then, ranger." Qara's glance at him had about the same amount of warmth in it. "Although I doubt you have the subtlety needed, you _just_ might possess enough self-coordination from stumbling around in those woods of yours."

"Ah. Girl after my own heart." Bishop said, taking a last swig and getting rid of his drink. "You see, holy girl, if you ever talked to me like that, you wouldn't have ended up with Milord Sourpuss over there."

"You mean I haven't insulted you enough, Bishop?" I decided to answer that with a smile. "You know, I seem to recall you didn't react very well last time I tried that. Must be your charm fading."

"The nonexisting one, you mean?" Qara sniffed. "Anyhow… can we get this on, please? I have people waiting, not to mention the band…"

"Oh. Must not keep the band waiting. Right." I nodded. Duncan actually hired a bunch of musicians for the evening, I had to learn, some of them coming over from the _Moonstone Mask _itself just for today. Grobnar waved a hand from their front, grinning ear to ear as he adjusted something on the odd trumpet-like instrument he chose to play for this occasion. _Duncan really went out of his way for this party_… I thought as I turned back to Casavir.

"You uncle really thought this out, didn't he?" It was startling just how much our thinking run along the same lines. I wasn't sure if it was the aftermath of that spell, but if so… well, we just had to see where it took us?

"As long as there will be no cake." I murmured under my breath as I obediently linked my fingers with his. "Or public cheering."

"Oh, I wouldn't think that kind of humiliation is what he had in mind." His hand was warm and reassuring resting on my waist, and I found that I cared not at all about what Duncan might plan for the rest of the evening. All of a sudden this whole waltzing thing made perfect sense.

"I think I figured this out." I said after stumbling through the first couple of steps together, accompanied by Qara's loud counting next to us: " _ONE-two-three, and one-two-three…WATCH the feet and one-two-three_…"

"Hmmm?" He raised an eyebrow at me.

"This dance." I explained, while concentrating on the turning around part.

"You mean, it became popular in the courtly circles because it finally gave an excuse to young ones to touch in public?" That eyebrow was quirked in quite an amused way. "It also allows for controlling movements rather well, I find, especially when I have remind my dancing partner, that…" his fingers tightened as he steered us from the way of an unusually happy-looking Elanee, her mouth turned upwards in laughter as Darmon was whispering the 'one-two-three' in her delicately pointed ears, "yet again, I lead."

The band started to play just then; the music was the same tune I heard earlier when Neeshka burst into the storage room. Grobnar's instrument carried the main melody, sweet and soaring, above the rest. It was simple but powerful, reminding me of songs I heard at many a Harvest Fairs.

"Oh. Right." I stumbled but recovered, and grinned at him. "If I say I hear and obey, what does that make me?"

"Someone who listens to what she's told." I absolutely adored the way he was able to control his features while saying things like that. I thought I'd burst out in a most unladylike fit of giggle right then, but instead bit my lip and concentrated on the dance.

"A wise decision indeed. " I heard him saying under his breath. "I feel that there's hope yet for mastering this for Yule."

"Don't start reminding me." I said, somewhat exasperated. I started to get a hang of it. The trick was, just as he said it, to let him lead—and given just how little opportunity I had in my life to dance, I hoped he understood that it was something seriously difficult for me.

"Hard to give up control, isn't she?" I heard Bishop's voice again, and saw him, smoothly guiding Qara next to us as if he'd done this a thousand times before. "Maybe she'd need a firmer hand, m'lord? I could advise, you know."

I could feel the force with which Casavir restrained himself; it was a rolling wave of pure anger, blazing with azure, tinted with the god's purple, making the air almost too heavy to breathe suddenly.

"Easy, there." I whispered, soothingly, and squeezed his hand. All I needed for tonight was a brawl for my honor. It was nothing more than one of the ranger's usual jibes, but I could understand why it stung him all the worse right now.

"He insulted your honor again, my lady." he growled back and I felt his arm tighten around my waist. The cloud of anger threatened to roll over me, but I resisted and _pushed_ back with waves of calm and soothing.

_I will not let Bishop ruin this_… I thought, fighting to keep my composure now that I had his anger to wash over me. I could practically taste its metallic tinge in my mouth.

_Definitely need to talk to Aldanon about this blood oath thing. Possibly Casavir's uncle, the Archive Caretaker, too._ Maybe they had an annotated version of the Ertorian Cycle in the Archives.

"Then let _me_ handle it…." I saw that this might become an ongoing problem for us, so I was determined to set the rules as early as possible.

"How _sweet _of you to offer, Bishop." I called out louder, looking at the ranger on our right with a full-toothed smile. "I'll be sure to ask if something needs to be brutally assaulted in the neighborhood." I let my eyelids droop a bit and lowered my voice. "Until then, please be nice to Qara. I wouldn't want to find you burnt nice and crisp in the morning." With that, I pointedly turned my head back to look at Casavir and smiled at him as sweetly as I could.

"There." I said brightly. "And you said something about…?"

He shook his head; with the pressure of his hand and a twist made me change course and follow his glide across the floor.

"Never mind, my lady." He let out the air a bit too forcefully, but his tones eased back to their cooler register. "I have to thank you for handling the ranger. " I flashed another smile at him, but he wasn't done yet. "About waltzing, now…"

"Reminds me of sparring, actually." I said, acutely aware how he pulled me closer during that turn, his right hand pressing against the small of my back. _A very peculiar kind of sparring_, some corner of my mind I was hitherto only vaguely aware of supplied, snickering. Somehow I didn't mind.

I leaned back a bit so I can look him fully in the face.

"Gods, you learned this fast…" I said appreciatively as he deftly avoided colliding with a giggling Neeshka who was… did I see that right?

"That was Marshal Cormick, wasn't he?" Sure was; he looked almost unrecognizable in civilian clothing, especially holding my favorite rogue…"Okay, that's odd." The Marshal of the Watch dancing with a former master thief…

I shook my head. _I will not pass judgment where I do not possess facts, _I repeated one of the core tenets of my faith in my mind and caught Casavir eyeing me thoughtfully.

"Yes?" I asked him, but as soon as I said that, I _somehow_ knew what was going through his mind. It was not the Sight; much more like being so attuned to his emotions and feelings that every slight change in them registered for me as well, distinctly and clearly, like the deep ringing of a bell or a flash of color. It was new; it was unusual; it was dizzying… and definitely connected to the bond we shared now.

"I am so sorry." I said quietly, returning his gaze. "Here I am, never stopping thinking about others, while…" I shook my head, ashamed all of a sudden.

"Shh." he said, with one of his slow, hesitant smiles that still were so new to me and which, I found again, could utterly take my breath away. "Caring about others and so passionately is part of you, my lady." He pulled me closer and I found that I could not resist. "In no small way it is why I…" He cut that off with a sharply intaken breath, and I had to suppress the impatient urge to lean even closer and plead with him to finish it, finish that sentence that made my stomach flutter in a sweet and almost unbearable way… but I realized why he _didn't _when the music stopped and I saw he was staring at someone over my shoulder, with furrowed brows of concern.

There was a loud conversation behind me; Cormick was talking to an agitated Watchman whom I recognized as Sergeant Brockenburn, the fixture of the Blacklake Watchhouse.

"A WHAT?" Cormick roared and I felt Casavir stiffen with disapproval. "Are you telling me, Sergeant, that you suspect something might be off at the house of a prominent citizen of our fair city and you need _me_ there to hold your hand? _While I am off duty_?"

"It's okay…" I murmured. Again, Casavir's emotions enveloped me like a thundercloud. "Let me see what's going on, if you pardon me…"

He sighed, releasing me, and I felt a definite pang of regret myself. This closeness was something I could… get used to, definitely.

"We'll have to practice a lot, and soon, remember?" I squeezed his hand before I turned, to ease the way this evening was apparently ending, and the heat in his eyes made my knees weak enough that I had to actually fight for balance a bit.

"I am looking forward to it… very much." he rumbled after me, and I felt that utterly silly grin pulling my lips almost ear to ear again.

_Gods, what was happening to me?_

"So what seems to be the problem, Marshal?" I raised my voice a bit to cut off Brockenburn's stuttering and ease the situation somewhat. "Come, tell me over there, will you? Let the rest of the guests get back to their… whatever they were doing." I linked my arm in his, still with that wide silly smile on my face and quirked an eyebrow at the sergeant to follow us to a corner. The party noises resumed; I saw Duncan starting to pass out drinks and there was this general surge towards the bar.

All was back to normal, in other words.

"Sweet gods, Arrighan, you are grinning like a cat who just found the cream…" Cormick started but saw it better to end in a cough as he spotted Casavir pulling out a chair for me at the table towards which I steered him. "Er… Evenin', milord…" he said and touched his forehead with a half-assed salute. It made Casavir smile, although I could see from the wrinkles on his forehead that he was still annoyed at Cormick for breaking the spell this evening held for us.

"Just Casavir will be fine, Marshal." he said. "And the reason you have to give up the festivities is…?" he inquired, elegantly passing by the awkward phase of the conversation and getting straight to the matters at hand.

"Well…" He shook his head at the offered seat. "Beg pardon, but I really better go. The Sergeant here's telling me that the old sage's mansion shows some signs of being violently broken into, so I need to go and do every godsdamned Watchman's business from now on, apparently…"

"Aldanon's house?" I asked, feeling a vague unease stirring in me. I knew this must have been a coincidence, but I kept thinking about the old man today.

"Aye, Lieutenant." Brockenburn was standing with his helmet in the crook of his arm, legs braced slightly apart, clearly uncomfortable. "Him having some trouble with trespassers breaking one or two windows last week, I thought it…"

"I don't think Lieutenant Pendwyr, who, by the way, happens to be on extended leave, needs to be bothered with the details, Sergeant." Cormick said, his thick neck reddening again. "We'll just go and look into…"

"No, that's quite allright. " I said quickly. The last thing I wanted was to get Brockenburn a reprimand when, by all indications, he already was having a bad day.

"Oy! There you are, lady!" Wolf chose to materialize next to me at that very moment, studiously ignoring the two Watchmen and looking like someone else with his combed hair and clean shirt. "Heard someone mention that old fella from Blacklake…? I tried to track you down all evenin' with this, but Duncan sure keeps us busy. I got a message for you from the old man, actually."

"Aldanon was here? When?" I furrowed my brow.

"Oh, two days ago, maybe?" Wolf shrugged, with a lean grace that got more pronounced lately. _Did he grew a couple of inches since we took him in? _"Dory tried to get it to you, but those snobby ol' priests chucked her out." He glanced at Casavir quickly. "No disrespect meant, m'lord, of course."

"None taken, Master Wolf." He nodded back with a serious expression on his face; it happened during my Rites of Tyr, then. "So, what was the message?"

"Oh. That." Wolf made a face. "He was rather rattled, you know how he can get…" We both nodded; that encounter with the old man the first time I took the silver shards to him left some memories. "He was mumblin' about some silver shards… Said he needed to talk to you right away, but…" There was that shrug again, and I had to hide a grin, when I recognized where it came from. _He is copying Casavir's movements…_

"Well, that's all fine and dandy…" Cormick said, "…but that doesn't make my life any easier, other than…"

"Hold it just a second, Marshal." Casavir lifted a hand. "If Master Aldanon came here about something and then you got news concerning disturbance at his house, especially since you already heard someone was stalking around the mansion which I actually recall him mentioning when we visited him the first time…"

I stood up with a sigh.  
"Cormick, you go right ahead." I looked him up and down, standing there in his shirt and doublet. "You probably need to stop by the Watchhouse for your uniform anyway. I'll get my stuff together and meet you there."

Cormick looked at me with narrowed eyes, but knew better than to outright say no.

"Duncan's going to kill you." he said at last. 'He worked on this party so hard… and you are going to sneak out on him?"

"Duncan will understand, Marshal." I said, with a shrug, returning his even gaze. "I am involved in this case, it seems. Meet you at Aldanon's mansion, say, an hour?"

I circled around the room from one side, while Casavir did the same on the other—I got Neeshka and Elanee, while he found Khelgar and Sand. I saw him talking to Shandra for a minute who threw an exasperated look towards me but nodded and went to find Duncan.

"Thanks, everyone." I said as we gathered on top of the stairs on the corridor where our respective rooms lay. "This well just might be a wild goose chase, but…"

"Hush, lass." Khelgar belched. "We know yer instincts. If this stinks for one thing or 'nother, ye'll need backup. The Watch mighn't be able to handle this one neither."

"If someone broke in to the old man's place, I am just the right person you need." Neeshka hopped excitedly from one foot to the other. "When are we going?"

"As soon as we all put on something more than just party finery." I said, looking them over. Yep, they all looked their Tenthday best, bless their heart. Khelgar re-braided his beard with his clan knots and had only one visible weapon on his belt, which definitely meant he was letting his hair down. Neeshka was wearing a version of her usual skintight leathers the color of rusty leaves that somehow managed not to clash with her hair and eyes, while Elanee actually…

"El, you… have a _dress_ on?" I asked quietly, as if I was afraid some of the mulled wine I had today was playing with my senses.

"Yes, I figure it might not be the best for checking on possible danger." she answered calmly. "Let me do something about it, it will be only a minute...Meet you back here." She patted my hand, and turned to hurry towards her room, skirts swishing around her ankles.

"Dear girl, let me nip home to pick up some… accessories for possible… eventualities." Sand rubbed his hands together. "I do know where Master Aldanon lives, so we can just meet there. "He flashed a smile at me. "I must say, throwing in my lot with you proved to be much more… eventful than I ever would have thought possible while being a shopkeeper in the Docks." With that, he was also gone. Neeshka and Khelgar went to their rooms as well, promising to make quick work of their preparations, and that left me and Casavir.

"Armor, then?" I looked at him, rubbing my arms up and down; it was colder here upstairs.

"Armor." he nodded. "Probably the hauberk will be sufficient; if it's thievery, best to move silently."

That was exactly the way my thoughts ran as well. Well, _some _of them, anyway. Some of them were too busy, still, admiring his shoulders, dressed in a grayish soft blue doublet. The hue reminded me of some of the flowers I saw in one of the bouquets sent to me—heliotrope, it was called, I remembered suddenly for some reason.

"Perhaps we should go then, my lady….?"he suggested gently, with some amusement in his voice.

"Right." I said, sounding out of breath suddenly. Somehow I was standing way too close to him again. _Gods, I haven't touched him in minutes_… run though my head, recalling the exhilarating feel of him holding me in the middle of the floor downstairs in public, in front of everyone's eyes, and it being perfectly all right…

That spell was obviously at work again.

"I am _so _talking to Hlam as soon as we figure out this thing with Aldanon…" Again, I didn't know I was speaking out loud until I heard his startled laughter.

"Aye, we both should." he said slowly, as he rested his palm against my cheek for a second.

The feel of our commingling aura was exquisite. I closed my eyes, leaning into his touch and inhaled, wanting the moment to stretch forever.

"Armor. Yes." _Dammit, Arrighan, get a grip! _"Back here in no time." I mumbled and away I fled, to the safety of my room, glad for the prospect of feeling the cold metal of my armor like never before. I had the sinking feeling that the outcome of my little hotheaded action might be a little bit more than we both could have asked for.

_Then again_, I thought with some defiance as I shook myself into my hauberk and strapped on the shoulder pieces, _it's not as we're doing something that we didn't want or was expressly forbidden_. I added my sword belt and the usual assortment of potion vials, decided on the City Watch cloak just in case Cormick needed some backup authority, made a face in the mirror seeing just how hopelessly utilitarian I looked, then shrugged and hurried out the door as I felt a little brush of Casavir's silver-blue aura and figured he was probably out there waiting for me.

Like many times before when we wanted to leave without alerting the entire inn, we used the back door through the stables, and managed to actually get through accompanied by only some small snorts from our horses. I shared a brief moment with Lorra, patting her flank for a second and from the corner of my eyes could see that Casavir was feeding some sugar cubes to Elbriel, who must have been seriously needing some outdoor time.

"Misses the outdoors, isn't he?" I asked when he caught up with us with an apologetic little smile.

"I am afraid so." He dusted his hands and pulled up the hood of his cloak; the late Uktar rain that started to fall were chilly enough to threaten with turning into snow any day now.

"Great, just great." mumbled Khelgar. "I left a perfectly good flask of _uisce _there back at the Flagon for _this_?"

"Barrel-house…" Neeshka chuckled softly from the darkness of the street. "Don't you ever trust me? Here." A gloved hand reached out and handed something flat and flask-shaped to the dwarf who grunted in surprise.

"Khm… thanks, goat-girl." he managed to stammer out, as he deftly pocketed the flask.

"That's my girl." I whispered fondly as we hurried down the streets of the Docks towards the bridge.

"Do you think she paid for it?" I heard Casavir catching up with me and I slowed. I never realized just how fast I walked compared to everyone else.

"Crap." I said and frowned. "You always find the catch." I sighed. "Well, I guess I can pay Duncan later?"

"Or you can ask her to do the same." he suggested thoughtfully. "After all, it was _her _compassionate act of charity, not yours."

"Oh." Once again, he was right. "Are you saying I am making excuses for her?"

"I am merely suggesting that she's adult enough to take responsibility for her own actions now that she's no longer on the path of thievery." His aura was swirling with gentle concern: I knew he cared for Neeshka. "You did much for Neeshka, really; if this is something that makes you uncomfortable, I would be more than happy to talk to her…"

"I don't think it's…" I started to say, a bit annoyed that he might think I couldn't take care of something this simple… but I stopped just short of finishing that sentence as I realized that, once again, I intended to take on everything and everyone's problems.

And that I suspiciously sounded like I wanted to say 'it's not _your _problem' which would have been not only rude, but untrue and hurtful.

"Sorry." I said instead, well aware of the sharp glance he cast at me; he probably was aware of my emotions just as well as I was of his. "I think I would like that."

"Thank you, my lady." His deep voice was thick with emotion; I resisted the spell's urge to stop and wrap my arms around him--we were in the middle of Neverwinter, after all. Instead, I settled for seeking his hand and holding it for a while. After all, it was dark and although I had the ability to see without any light, I _might _have missed something. Or he might have.

The nervously scurrying pale passersby alerted us as soon as we passed the gates of Blacklake that something was amiss. The grim Watchmen ringing the little square where Aldanon's mansion stood made it all the more clear, with their flickering torches and stony expression. The almost-panicked voice of Sergeant Brockenburn rang out over their head, making the last civilians scatter even faster and us stop and listen.

"Back, _back_, by the gods! I don't think they're bluffing."

"I said stay back! Anyone steps in the yard, and we kill your Marshal!" That was a different voice, greasy and shrill, with clear tones of panic and desperation, coming from towards the house.

"Shiiit." said Neeshka by my ear. "He wanted to play hero?"

I looked at the Watchman blocking our way and raised an eyebrow. I didn't recall his name, but I thought I saw him at the Blacklake watch house once or twice.

"If you don't mind, Constable…" I said tersely.

"We've got a hostage situation there, ma'am." he said to the air above my head. "My orders are to keep everyone out the square until that's resolved."

"Lieutenant Pendwyr, City Watch." I measured between my teeth, just in case the imbecile failed to see my cloak with its boldly embroidered insignia. I found that I had no patience at all; _Cormick _was out there…

Just then, I heard Brockenburn shouting again.

"Marshal Cormick! How badly are you hurt, sir?"

"That tears it." I growled. "I am going through, Constable. _Now_."

He might have resisted just me, but I had several people behind me, and Casavir and Khelgar could be persuasive if needed. We got over the blockade.

The square was not too big, and, like I said, I could walk fast when needed. I still caught the end of the feeble answer that came from the stairs of Aldanon's house, accompanied by a wet cough.

"Shot at me... point blank... still couldn't hit a thing." Cormick sounded like he had a chest wound; my darkvision enabled me to see him half-sprawled on the stone steps of the entrance. He attempted to pull himself up on his elbow; there was a spreading pool of something dark underneath him. "Just rush 'em, Sergeant... they're out of charges, anyway!"

That shrill voice was yelling again; Brockenburn shook his head, disheartened as he stood there, next to one of his constables holding a torch.

"Best not listen to him, Sergeant. Us poor imbeciles got plenty o' charges left on this here wand, so keep your stinkin' distance!"

"Brockenburn! What's going on here?" I could make use of the command voice Aevan taught me, from time to time; I saw the sergeant's head snap around and both of his man straighten at attention as I rushed up to them, my companions trying to keep up.

"It's a botched robbery, near as I can tell, ma' am." he reported smartly, turning out a passable salute. "It appears the thieves were still inside the house when Cormick knocked. Must have noticed that the old sage's wards were down, and went to have a look." He shook his head. "Didn't let me to go with him either. Poor fellow never stood a chance."

"So they got a magic wand?" If I concentrated, I could see the glimmer of something metallic in the window that was directly above the entrance door.

" Yeah." Brockenburn nodded. "They shot him with that and left him in the yard. Now they say they'll kill him if we come any closer. It's an impasse, and a sticky one, at that." He looked at me. "You arrived just in time, it seems."

I suppressed a wry smile. Yes indeed--they all knew I was Brelaina's little problem-solver in the past months. Naturally that hasn't changed just because I got falsely accused by Luskans and became a squire.

"As you know, Cormick's a friend." I said, understanding, yet again, what was asked without asking. "Do you mind if I try talking to them?"

Brockenburn snorted.

"Me? Minding? Look here, ma'am, I've no ego to bruise. I can walk a beat, catch a thief, or rescue a kitten from a tree, but when it comes to negotiations, I'm hardly any use." His relief was almost palpable. "You want to take over, I let you."

"And let's not forget that he's probably feeling guilty as hells for dragging the Marshal into this from your party, dear girl." That was Sand, finally arriving, glancing around as if trying to find the person responsible for the drizzly rain getting stronger by the minute. "So let us do what we want to do, and fast, before your friend the Marshal bleeds out there."

"Hey! You at the house! There's somebody here who'd like to have a word with you!" Brockenburn decided to ignore the wizard and concentrate on the thugs inside instead. Usually I appreciated that practical approach, but now I was merely shaking my head in half-amusement, half-annoyed at the speed with which he decided to transfer this particular operation to me.

I took a deep breath and let go with my command voice again, trying for the snap at the end Aevan used every now and then and which, I always found, utterly compelled the person addressed to confess just about everything they'd been up to.

"I'm Arrighan Pendwyr. Who am I speaking to?"

There was a moment of silence where I could clearly hear Cormick's labored breath, then two heads appeared in the window above the marshal's sprawling body, both grizzled with grey.

"Name's Hewe." Greasy Voice croaked, gesturing towards his leaner counterpart with one hand. The other was firmly gripping a slender metal wand. "This here's Gulver."

The other stared at him like he'd been struck by lightning.

"Idiot!" he hissed. "What'd you tell 'em our names for?"

"Well, she told us hers, so…" The one called Hewe answered, but his comrade stopped him with a nervous shake of his head.

"Arrighan… Pendwyr?" He sounded almost as out of breath as Cormick did. "That's the lady what cleaned us out of the Docks! The one who did for Moire! Oh... Gods."

"Well, well." Sand's chuckle was gently chiding. "Sounds like we run into some of your admirers, dear girl. Old acquaintances from your honeymoon days with the city, I assume?"

"Most likely." I murmured. If this was a desperate move from some of the members of Moire's now defunct gang, they must have grown desperate indeed. On the other hand, that meant I didn't do as good a job as I thought I did, and that, indirectly or not, might have been responsible for what happened to Cormick.

_Time to clean this up, then._

"We can work this out. What will it take for you to give yourselves up?" I asked, using the same voice. I got a surprised glance from Sand and Khelgar looked at me funny too--I guess they just expected me to charge in. I almost snorted: they _really _should have known me better by now.

"Shadow Thieves, my lady?" I heard Casavir's rumbling voice right next to my ear; I tried not to show just how badly that affected my heart rate.

"Don't know yet." I flashed a nervous smile towards him. "I am hesitant to form any opinions; and right now I am focusing on getting Cormick out of there."

"Agreed." He nodded. "Just tell us what to do."

"All right, we're listenin', Pendwyr, but we got demands." I heard Hewe's greasy voice again, and listened, all else forgotten for the moment. "We give ourselves up, you got to promise to let us go free. Them hounds got to give their word, too."

"Oh, no, that's not going to happen." Brockenburn's mouth was pressed into a thin line and I could see the apprehension in his eyes. "They come out, they get to keep their lives, and that's all. We don't let criminals walk, not in this district."

I tried to be patient, but yet again, there's only so much shortsightedness I could stand at once. Indeed, there was a reason why Brockenburn was stuck at chasing cats for old ladies at Blacklake. I almost snapped at him then, but felt Casavir's gloved hand on my arm, and his silver-blue aura extending over me a bit with a nudge of calmness, and that helped to change my response to something more diplomatic.

"Sergeant, letting those two out is a small price to pay for Cormick's life."

"Besides," added Neeshka with a wink, "you can still arrest the ones in the house. This looks like a rather botched job to me… and those two, well, if I remember right, they never were worth much."

"You know them?" I asked her with interest.

"Yeah. If it's the same Hewe and Gulver…" she looked towards the window with narrowed eyes and I knew she was using her tiefling dark vision the same way I employed my _aasimar _abilities to make out the two thieves' faces. "Not Shadow Thieves… freelancers, like me. Last I heard, they took up with this guy called Old Scab… bad news."

"So it might be them inside then…" I turned back to Brockenburn. "We have no time to waste, Sergeant. It's the Marshal bleeding in the courtyard there. What will it be?"

"I'm telling you, this is a mistake." The sergeant's face still wore that disapproving frown. "Let one criminal slip through your fingers, and you'll find a dozen more trying to do the same." He shot a quick look towards Casavir that took me a moment to interpret; Brockenburn must have been there in the courtroom when he was revealed as one of the city's aristocrats and now unselfconsciously looked at him as a superior officer who was approving what I was doing. "But... I'll not stand in your way."

I wasn't sure I liked that, but there wasn't much I could do.

"All right, you two." I raised my voice again. "You got my words and the Sergeant's here, too."

"Hear that, Hewe?" Gulver sounded excited and all too eager to come out. That was odd. "They promised! Come on, let's go, afore they change their minds! I don't wanna die for Old Scab."

"You were right, Neesh." I whispered. "They have the entire gang in there, then."

"Aye, Gulver, we've hardly a choice... Hey, Pendwyr! We're leavin' the wand and comin' out, so you tell them hounds to keep their steel to themselves!"

"I am ready, Arrighan." Elanee touched my arm. "I'll go in there as soon as they come out to check on Cormick."

"I'll go with her." said Casavir, loosening his stance a bit. "Just in case they try something."

"Thanks." I said, still tense, watching the two heads disappear and the door open slowly and noiselessly a minute or so later.

As soon as I saw the two figures on the stairs, I nodded towards Elanee and Casavir.

"Go." I said curtly and they slid into the courtyard so smoothly I barely felt them gone.

"It'll pain me to let these two walk... " said Brockenburn, watching Hewe and Gulver passing by where the marshal lay and coming towards us, "…but you did save Cormick's life. And if we're lucky, their friends inside haven't heard a thing. I'd bet you can still take them unawares."

"Indeed." I said absent-mindedly. I saw Elanee getting busy by Cormick and all of a sudden I felt the need to go over there myself, like a gentle nudge from two large feathered wings. "If you pardon me for a bit, Sergeant…" I looked at Neeshka. "Would you and Khel please make sure the two thieves don't go anywhere just yet until I ask a few questions from them? Thank you." I thought I saw even more blood, and some desperation on Elanee's face, so I left them before they could say anything.

"Heh... you should have just charged those... stinking amateurs." Cormick looked rather bad. It was blood, and a lot of it, all his own, pooling under his body from an ugly, charred wound in his side. He coughed as Casavir tried to put him into a more upright position, sitting down next to him on the stairs, with the practiced and careful ease of someone who'd done this countless times on the battlefield. Elanee was readying one of her healing spells already, but from the grim set of her mouth I suspected it would take a bit more than what she had ready for the moment.

"Hang in there, Cormick. We'll get you healed up." I sank to my knees next to him, tried to get my gloves off with my teeth. " As soon as I got these off…" I muttered to myself.

"Hostages... " he said, barely audible, and coughed again. "Three or four. And more thieves... a dozen or more... back of the house."

"How badly is he hurt?" My glove finally off, I looked at Casavir.

"It wasn't just one of those charges from whatever wand they used." Casavir said grimly. "One in the stomach, one in the side… I don't think we should remove the clothing just yet."

"Agreed." Elanee was pressing one of her linen handkerchiefs over Cormick's gut. "Trying to stabilize him first." She closed her eyes and started to murmur one of her spells.

"Takes more than... couple magic missiles in the gut…" Cormick tried to smile, but that died after a sharp intake of breath. "…to kill a... Harborman. Eh?" His eyes fluttered upwards, back into his head.

"We are losing him!" Elanee just finished her incantation, followed by a brief pale green flash of her healing powers, but without the warm glow I learned to associate with her successful magic. "He's not responding…"

"_Reba Tiw abba_…" I heard the words coming to my lips almost instinctively, the silver sparks arriving almost instantly as soon as I smoothed my palm over the gaping wound on the now unconscious Cormick's side. I let my healing powers loose, in one smooth wave, trailing from my palm and fingertips, drawing it across and over the wound once, twice…

"That should do it, my lady." A gentle touch on my forearm brought me back to the real world. "The Watch can take him to the Infirmary now for some rest and further healing."

"Hm?" I lifted my palm to see the wound under it much reduced in size, the other in his gut almost closed. "Oh."

"Your powers grew considerably, Arrighan." Elanee drew back a bit, looking at me with an odd expression on her face. "That was a powerful spell. You saved Cormick's life today."

"The Even-Handed did." I stood up, as two Watchmen arrived with a stretcher and needed space to get Cormick on it. "I was merely His vessel." I let out a sigh of relief as I saw how gently they eased the marshal on the stretcher with Casavir's assistance.

"Um, Rig?" I felt Neeshka tapping my arm. "You might want to come over and talk to these two." Her face was serious. "Before anyone inside hears us. They have a _very _interesting story to tell about Aldanon." She shook her head. "I… I believe he's been kidnapped."


	36. From Bitter Searching Of The Heart

-1**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections. It really helps me to get better, so please feel free to leave a review. Thanks for all of those who have already done so—you guys are great!**

**There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things. **

**For this chapter I used three songs from Leonard Cohen's _Dear Heather_ to illustrate the complex relationships between Nasher, Rig, Cas and Tyr, their god: _Villanelle for Our Time_, _The Faith_, and _There For You_. If you get a chance, Dear Reader, check out the lyrics.**

**And the usual wishful thinking: I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… The Pendwyr girl is entirely my fault, though. J**

**Chapter Thirty-Six: From Bitter Searching Of The Heart**

Despite the fact that it was past midnight, there were still servants awake in Castle Never. We were ushered in almost immediately after one of the gate guards that let us into the courtyard reported inside. Given how late it was, and given what we just went through, I insisted that everyone else went back to the Flagon after making sure the Watch took over the scene in the basement of Aldanon's house properly. With the well-familiar battle weariness seeping back to my bones, I would have wanted noting else but do the same. But after what I've learned at the sage's mansion, I had no other choice.

"Shouldn't leave ye alone, Little 'Un." Khelgar was clearly uncomfortable. "'Tis not right."

"You can barely stand on your feet, Elder Brother." He bore his left arm in a sling as its shattered bones slowly knitted after the last of our healing potions. I was glad we did not just run out in our party finery; Old Scab's gang had some surprises in store for every one of us. If Neeshka hadn't been with us with her unearthly skills of trapfinding, our injuries probably would have been magnitudes worse. Hewe and Gulver were right: Old Scab was, indeed, a trap man.

"Arrighan is right." said Elanee quietly. "We need the rest. And given how we left, we probably owe everyone an explanation." She cast a quick glance at Casavir. "Besides, she won't be alone."

"Yeah, that's 'xactly what I'm talkin'about, tree-worshipper." mumbled Khelgar, using the old nickname for the druid again.

"There _might_ be a concussion." Elanee replied curtly, taking the dwarf by the arm. "And so I am taking you back to the Flagon, Master Dwarf, and that's official." She looked at Sand, a bit exasperated, very much like caring for a small, unruly child who refused to go to bed. "Would you mind giving me a hand here?"

I could hear them arguing with Khelgar gently all the way down the castle ramp; I looked after them fondly as their two-Watchman escort with torches disappeared around the corner. I caught Neeshka's mock-horror expression last: she was still uncomfortable with working for the good team, let alone receiving armed honor guards all the way home.

"Now _that_ oddly reminded me of bedtime at the Starlings." I chuckled while the two of us were politely but with considerable speed whisked into the courtyard and through a couple of doors. "Chasing Bevil's two little brothers between dinner, bath and bed. I helped out there a couple of times a week." I sighed wistfully, remembering that, even back then, running barefoot and yelling all around the Starling house trying to catch two boys who just turned the washbasin upside down on me _definitely_ hasn't been considered good times. "They were a handful…"

I knew my mind was casting back to that partly out of exhaustion, partly for something pleasant to think about instead of the past hours in a ransacked house and its claustrophobic basement with the trembling house staff barely escaping slaughter.

"I was wondering what the reasons were for you being so good with children, my lady." Casavir said thoughtfully as we walked side by side. "Given that you had no siblings…"

"Well, I practically grew up with Bevil and Amie." I said. "Amie was a war orphan, like me, except that she was raised by the other single man in the village, Tarmas, our wizard. That probably explained why we became such close friends, come think of it. That, and her considerable arcane talents which set her aside just as much as the fact that I glowed in the dark when other kids needed encouragement. Retta was called in a lot to help with us, even when her husband was still alive. She was West Harbor's midwife and wise-woman until Brother Merring was sent to us from the Temple of Dawn here in Neverwinter." I shook my head. "Gods, but I miss them. I hoped I could go back soon, before winter arrives, so I can talk to Retta, but…" I trailed off, afraid that if I continue, I might, despite my gruff appearance in mail and Watch cloak and signs of recent battle on said cloak, tear up over the realization that my duties once again interfered with my desires.

"I am sorry, my lady. " His gloved hand enveloped mine briefly, sending much-needed warmth along my arm straight to my heart. "It seems this would not be the time for that journey."

"Well, it's nicer in the spring, anyway." I tried to see it in a better light. "You'll see. I mean…if you still wouldn't mind…"

"As soon as the roads are clear, my lady." He smiled. "No one gets through in the winter storms to the Mere … you would still be the first one to pay your respects to Mistress Starling with the news about her son."

"I hope so." I murmured. I prayed that I wouldn't find, when I finally arrived back at West Harbor that some wondering bard or other "kind" soul already took the news to my birth village and Retta had to learn from a stranger that the girl who she had helped to learn to read, comb her hair, not to climb trees in skirt and not to whistle in public had to fight her firstborn to the death in front of most of Neverwinter.

The part of the castle we were escorted into was different than the rooms around the Great Hall; as we climbed the stairs to one level higher, I suspected we actually were somewhere near, or even in the living quarters. We were passed through a series of guards, then at last, when I lost the count of doors and corridors, showed into a small room and left alone while an important-looking guard with a sash on his breastplate hurried away through another door.

"Where are we?" I asked aloud and looked around. The room could probably be called small by castle standards, and was comfortably furnished; it brought into mind Sir Grayson's drawing room with its couches and a couple of armchairs across from each other by the fireplace where there was a fire burning.

"'Tis the Lord Nasher's personal suite m'lady." an old, clipped voice answered from behind me, and as I turned, I could see a gaunt old man coming forward, dressed all in black with a white neck shawl. He nodded towards Casavir with a faint smile. "Good evening, m'lord… a tad late for a visit. We got quite some weather out there, don't we?"

"Clemins." Casavir nodded to the old man, as if he was an old acquaintance. "Yes, it seems we got proper winter arriving at last, or as much of it as Old River allows."

"His Highness will be here in a minute, m'Lord, m'Lady." The man called Clemins carried a tray that he placed on a table in front of the fire. "He instructed me to make you comfortable… I got some hot coffee here to warm you until then. And if I can take care of your cloaks?"

"Thank you, Clemins, you were always a treasure." I was definitely out of my depth here, but Casavir was not. He assisted me with my cloak, handed both garments to Clemins, waited until I took my seat in one of the armchairs, then sat down himself. "The lady is Squire Arrighan Pendwyr, in service of Neverwinter and Our Lord the Even-Handed." He watched for a second as the old man poured coffee into two cups made out of the finest porcelain I've ever seen. "Clemins here used to work for my father, my lady."

"His Highness the Lord Nasher took over most of the household staff." Clemins inserted smoothly, gliding over the circumstances of said takeover. "The young Lord here was kind enough to remember me when he visited us two days ago."

I looked at the old man as he poured cream and handed the cup to me with a small bow. He was gaunt, but with an erect and alert stance, and his fingers looked nimble and free of old age's agues. There was a pin securing the end of his neck shawl almost hidden by the folds of the white silk, and I could see another, similar piece of silk around his waist, with another pin slightly sticking out, along with the pale whalebone hilt of a dagger, barely visible.

Whoever this man was, he definitely was no mere body servant. No servant I've ever seen bore arms while serving their lord, and especially not in Castle Never; Casavir and I could keep our weapons when ushered in because we were Tyr's paladins only.

I decided to treat Clemins with cautious courtesy; his gray eyes had the same coldness in them, albeit to a lesser degree as Bishop's, and that, combined with the stance, the fingers, the pieces of silk that were a bit too long and flamboyant plus the dagger and slightly large pins, the head of one of which, I was quite sure, formed a harp…

"It is, indeed, good to know that the Lord Nasher doesn't waste talent." I smiled at Clemins as I took the offered cup. "As I am also glad to know that even when the Nine are away, he's in good hands."

There was this moment of stillness between the two men in the room, then Casavir shook his head.

"I told you, Clemins." he said dryly and leaned back in his chair with a curiously proud expression on his face."' Deceive me you cannot, for I am Truth.'" He was quoting the Book of the Even-Handed, and I blushed slightly as I realized that he was paying me a compliment with it.

"Indeed, m'lord." said the old man, with a small chuckle escaping his thin lips. "I am lucky we didn't place a wager."

"Paladins are technically not allowed to do that, Clemins, at least not with money, you know." Casavir sipped on his coffee. "You must excuse us, my lady." he said with a small apologetic shrug. "I'm afraid the differing opinions Clemins and I had over whether you'd be able to perceive his real nature led to…"

"It cannot be good if it's the two of you in the middle of the night." The unmistakable voice of Lord Nasher boomed at us from the second door of the room. I jumped up, almost dropping the cup; it was gently but firmly taken out of my hand by Clemins with considerable speed as I bowed to the Ruler of Neverwinter. "I am glad to see your face has healed, but yet, again, you both look like you've seen combat… what happened in my city that required the Chosen and her Champion to intervene?"

It was plain that we raised him from his sleep; he dressed hastily to meet us, buttoning the last of the gold clasps on his long brocade robe while coming to the room.

"Some food, please, Clemins." Nasher sat down into the larges, most used armchair closest to the fire and waved us back to our seats. "Whatever the kitchen can find on such short notice. I have the feeling our two young paladins here didn't get a chance to have supper." He reached out with one hand from where he was sitting and snapped his fingers. "And make sure there's something for _him_ as well."

"Certainly, Sire." Before I had the chance to contemplate the fact that Nasher trusted us both enough to stay alone without guards, the old man dematerialized almost as quietly as he appeared earlier, ceding his place to the largest dog I've ever seen. It was a wolfhound, with shaggy grey coat, gold eyes, and a thoughtful expression on its face that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

_No. He is not without guards, ever._

"This is Hjalf." said Nasher quietly as the huge animal came forward silently and stopped right next to my chair. "I thought you two should meet."

There was something in the dog's eyes that made me lean forward and face it with my full attention slowly and carefully as it—no, _he_—stood there. Some small sparkles of a Presence… and as my right hand moved forward on its own volition, I already knew.

"_Siho'onna-el._" I whispered. _Vessel of the God_.

It is taught amongst Tyr's Faithful that the god sometimes chooses animals as his Vessels, carrying his essence in mortal manifestations—particularly intelligent and distinguished war dogs or hunting hounds to carry His power in times or places when a human avatar or even a Sending is not possible or impractical.

Hjalf clearly carried a tiny spark of the Even-Handed some time in the past. He touched his nose to my hand, made a small noise between a bark and a whine, and sat down, his head resting on my knee.

"I am honored." I said, my voice a bit uncertain. "I really am. Thank you, Sire." As a spell of dizziness overtook me for a second as yet again, I had to realize that I barely ate today. "Forgive me for not greeting you properly, but…" I wasn't even sure whether I was speaking to Nasher or his dog.

"Nothing to it." Nasher shook his head while pouring me some more coffee with a generous amount of cream with his own hand. "This should help until Clemins is back with some food, and maybe..." He flicked a hand towards Casavir. "Get me that little box from the corner table, will you, young man?" He turned back to me. "I keep some dried fruit here, just for cases like this." he explained as Casavir handed him an ornately wrought silver box. "You two are not the first persons to wake me up in the middle of the night with bad news." His face grew grim as he opened the box and held it in front of me. "Have some of this and then speak, Chosen; what is happening in my City?"

I complied, savoring the sweet taste of dried cherries mixing with the bitterness of coffee in my mouth for a moment.

"Aldanon the Sage has been kidnapped, Sire." I took a deep breath, heard Hjalf give a slow growl as he lifted his head from my knee, and continued, trying to recall the exact trail of events as Harcourt, Aldanon's assistant told us. "A couple of men walked up straight to his door, dressed respectably enough. They said they bore a message from me, so Master Aldanon lowered the wards. He tried to look for me earlier regarding a discovery he made about… some relics of the Shadow War."

"Silver shards from a broken blade of the githyanki, yes." Nasher smiled a tight little smile. "You carry one of those shards inside of you, Chosen. I wouldn't be much of a ruler if I hadn't made sure I knew about your background now, would I?"

"I'm sorry, Sire." I stumbled across the words and he shook his head impatiently.

"No matter, Chosen. I had more than twenty years to learn how to navigate these waters, not counting the years of my adventuring. You are hesitant to speak of this, as your home suffered more than its fair share because of those pieces of silver, and you do not wish to direct more attention to those you care for."

His words described my feelings exactly. I marveled at how much his thinking run along the same clear tracks as that of his nephew, who sat beside me now, concern etched on his face, long swordsman's fingers absentmindedly stroking Hjalf's grey fur. That, with the crackling of the fire and its pleasant warmth presented a sharp enough contrast to where we came from, that basement of Aldanon's old house soaked in misery and fear, that I had no other choice but snap back into reality, my own worries forgotten.

I took another sip of the coffee, another handful of the dried fruit, and continued.

"According to Harcourt, Aldanon's assistant, things went chaotic after the thieves' group entered the house. They gathered the house staff together and herded them down to the basement; they could see two men trundling Aldanon out of the house who later returned bringing a heavy pouch of gold. Their leader set up camp in the basement while his accomplices raided the house,."

"Harcourt presumed they handed Aldanon over to whoever hired them the first place." Casavir added, and took up the recounting of events from me so I can finish my drink. "I would tend to agree with that assessment. Also, the leader of the group, a Dockside trap specialist, Old Scab by name, stayed at the house a while longer than he should have. I don't believe that was part of the original plan: he must have liked Aldanon's amassed treasure."

"That house must be like a warehouse what with all the accumulated research aids, gems and rare alchemical ingredients he needed." Nasher nodded. "No wonder someone like that man decided to explore a bit further. But that would have not needed your intervention. What brought you two there the first place?"

"Marshal Cormick of the Watch was at the… celebrations at the _Sunken Flagon,_ Sire, when he was notified about the suspicious activities around the sage's mansion." I felt well enough to take up the tale again. "He rushed ahead to investigate and as we followed with some of our companions, we had to discover that he'd been wounded and was held hostage by some of the thieves."

"A fine officer, I am told." Nasher leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin. "Also from West Harbor, as I recall. His injuries?"

"Were tended to and he was taken to the Infirmary." I looked at Nasher. "We were not able to determine where Aldanon has been taken, Sire, I am afraid."  
"Given that you came here immediately after discovering this, I didn't expect you to have already conducted a full-scale investigation." I felt the heat in my cheeks rising. "Beware of setting yourself impossible standards, Chosen, or else you will never find happiness in life." He furrowed his brows. "This is grave news. Aldanon may have... irritated some, but that is no reason to seize him, unless there was something larger at stake."

"That's what worried me too." said Casavir, speaking with the practiced ease of a field officer giving a debrief to his commander. I suspected he was remembering his time spent as Lord Callum's adjutant. "The way that thief huddled in that basement… as if almost afraid of leaving the house and go back to the Docks. He had torches burning all around…the entire place was awash in light. And all those traps he set; both the amount and the force of those traps laid was excessive, even for one as skilled in his peculiar art as Old Scab was."

"That would not be normal behavior, I would agree." Nasher looked up sharply. "Your assessment of that, as one trained in the ways of the Even-Handed?"

"He was hired by someone who possesses magical talents, obviously dark ones. He was afraid he might be paid off in some other way than with gold once Aldanon was proved to be useful for that person." Casavir's voice deepened, his eyes narrowed as he collected the mosaics of this night's events into one bright, illuminating focus under his mind's scrutiny. "Hence the hiding, the multitude of magic-laden traps and the lights." He inhaled sharply, and his eyes found mine. "Those torches…'_The sun burns the shadows away_'…"

I remembered; those were the words I snarled at Arvan, Priest of the King of Shadows, in the defiled crypt of Liam Bruce.

All of the tiny, shattered pieces of once-had-been were swirling and spinning, like small shards of silver shattered by an impact on something unfathomably dark and towering…

"There is also more, Sire." I carefully placed my cup back at the table, knowing that what I was about to reveal was indeed, a grave matter. It gave a small clinking noise, anchoring me back to reality. "Aldanon had been researching the history of the silver shards at the Archive. I brought one to the city when I arrived here, my uncle Duncan Farlong possessed one as well, and it turned out Aldanon had a third. With the one I carry inside of me, that makes four, and I had acquired more from a slain Githyanki leader in the old Illefarn ruins above Ember."

"A rather significant amount of shards from an, I am assuming, magical artifact." Nasher said thoughtfully. "Is it… possible to see these shards, Chosen?"

I almost smiled, despite the gravity of the matter discussed. The old adventurer was speaking; there was a definite tremor of excitement in his voice, very similar to that I often heard when Neeshka managed to overcome a particularly difficult set of traps on a chest in some dark corner of a dungeon and it finally was forced open to give up its secrets.

"I always carry them with me, Sire." I nodded, fumbling with the catch of my larger belt-purse which contained the fragments in its magic-widened inside. I knew that, at first glance, it would have been impossible to contain all the pieces I pulled out of it; I remembered how Sand pressed it on me after we found it amongst the mad dryad's possessions in the Duskwood.

"Some kind of an alchemical silver alloy." Nasher didn't actually touch the shards; his hand hovered over them tentatively. I saw Casavir's eyes widening—I realized that he hadn't seen them all at once either. "The original must have been a terrifying weapon indeed…you say the shards have a magical resonance?"

"Very strong, Sire." I nodded. "I thought they always had, but my foster-father, Duncan and Aldanon all were telling me their pieces didn't exhibit any special abilities until they came into contact with me." I allowed myself a brief smile at the memory. "Knocked us all on our b… behinds when Sand tried to scry them at first, too."

"So Aldanon was researching these when he was kidnapped." Nasher said, tapping the table next to one of them. "Might they be connected?"

"I am afraid so, Sire." There was not even a hint of smile in my voice now, I knew; Nasher looked at me sharply. "He found an old reference to a shard in Neverwinter, discovered shortly after the war with the King of Shadows."

"Another shard, here?" His raised eyebrow was so much like Casavir's; the family resemblance was more in gestures and temperament than in facial features. What he said next was not a polite request, but the command of a ruler. "Explain."

"Yes, Sire." The knowledge of what the revelation what we have learned might cause made me slightly ill, but I had no other choice. "This shard was held by a fraternity of lords, wealthy men who dabbled in matters arcane. The Archives held some of their meeting records."

"A secret society organized around a powerful relic… no doubt they hoped to unlock its secrets, or some such." Nasher nodded. "I have seen several of those spring up along the Sword Coast during my time. I am assuming you have names, yes?"

" According to the records... Lords Dalren, Brennick, Hawkes, and Tavorick."

There was silence for a little while; only the cracking of the fire could be heard.

"Three of those mysteriously murdered, with clean signs of demonic presence detected around the crime site. We locked down the entire District because of it." Nasher's green eyes promised thunder. "Old men dabbling in arcane matters… passing that piece of silver one to another, just ahead of demons chasing after them…" He didn't finish that sentence, but it was clearly hanging in the air between us--would these shards of mine place the city, _his _city, into considerable danger, even if it all was started by a couple of bored old aristocrats and their little play-with-spells club of the month.

"If our guess is correct, then Lord Tavorick has the shard." Casavir's expression was grave. "And that places him in considerable danger. Aldanon tried to send word to him, but the man is… stubborn."

"Harcourt, Aldanon's assistant attempted to worn him, but he has sent him away, saying he shouldn't return until he was…'younger and female' were his words, as he remembered." I added.

"Yes, that would be Cyran." Nasher patted Hjalf's head almost absent-mindedly. "He is an… old friend. I will not allow him to suffer the same fate as the others." He furrowed his brow in thought, and we both watched in silence, not wanting to disturb.

"Do pardon me." Nasher said after a while, stirring from his thoughts and looking at us, his expression less stern and foreboding. "The news you brought make… this winter even more… interesting than it was even before this whole affair with Luskan. Cyran is on his way back from Waterdeep where he has relatives, and his ball at his estate was the traditional opener of Yule season for decades now. It is just a couple of days…" He stopped and looked towards the door. "Ah. It seems your supper turned into a breakfast."

Clemins rematerialized at the door. Hjalf didn't even look up, just opened one eye and sniffed the air as then old man eased a considerably laden tray on the table carefully avoiding the shards laid out in a neat row in front of me.

"I must apologize for the meager selection." he said in a croaky voice and straightened, quietly withdrawing into the background. "Second chef's compliments, Sire, and may he, quote, please receive a wage increase if we continue to send requests at such ungodly hours, end quote?"

"Francis knew what my demands were when he took his position." Nasher said while selecting a small, evenly browned sausage and offering it to Hjalf who gently took it with his teeth from between his lord's fingers like a born and bred courtier. "He's an artist of his trade but there's only so much incessant whining I can tolerate. Do try the chicken pastries, please, they are his specialty." With that, he rose from his chair and waved us down when we tried to get up. "We shall break for a while; you two can obviously use some sustenance and I need to send some dispatches regarding what you told me. We will reconvene shortly. Clemins, I shall require a couple of runners." He nodded and hurried out of the room, his brocade robe swirling; Hjalf gave a last nudge to my knee, bumped against Casavir's chair and followed his owner.

"That means a meeting." Casavir said thoughfully, settling back to his chair. "If I know him enough, several of the Nine, including Nevalle and perhaps Ophala, too will be here shortly." He noticed my expression. "Ophala Cheldarstorn is one of the head wizards of the Many Starred Cloaks, my lady, and as such, a direct counselor of the Lord of the City. Many plots were fooled by her and the ladies of her establishment that were thought hatched secretly,."

"Oh." I shook my head. "I knew she was more than she seemed, but…" I inhaled sharply as I realized just how much he took me into confidence here. That sentence about Ophala meant not only that he deemed me worthy of keeping this secret, but that Nasher himself would not have minded either.

"I think I need to obey my liege." I decided on saying at last, surveying the contents of the tray and I swallowed as the smell of hot food finally assaulted my nose. _A meager selection, indeed_, I thought, looking it over. Sausage links, small half-moon shaped pastries, a huge pile of light scrambled eggs, slices of bread toasted brown with yellow butter in a small silver dish, a platter of dried and cured meats, another with cheeses, slices of fruit, some of those little buttery pastry horns I was familiar with from Sir Grayson's house already, and three different types of preserves…Whoever the second chef was, he probably decided this was considered a breakfast since it was well past midnight.

"I do feel intimidated, now." I confessed with a lopsided grin, looking at Casavir. "How does one eat this with chainmail on?"

"As if it was the most natural thing you'd ever done." he answered, spreading a white napkin in his lap and reaching for one of the plates. "We are soldiers of the Even-handed, my lady; we make do with what we have. If on the field, we eat out of our hands, barely cooked meat or grains; if at court, goose liver pate from silver plates with forks." He shrugged. "No one should think less of you for not knowing the exact manner of distinguishing between an escargot fork and a lobster fork, my lady. Between a longsword and a falchion, however…"

"I thank you kindly for _not _reminding me." I said a bit sharply while piling food on my plate. 'I _still _can't believe I fell for such simple geometries."

"Ah." He looked at me with something like embarrassment on his face. It made him look about fifteen years younger, and made me want to just lean over the chair and kiss the tip of his nose, it was so endearing. "I didn't realize I was…didn't mean to…"

"…refer to my rather ridiculous lack of education when it comes to curved blades?" I grinned again, trying to disguise the fact that I almost planted one on him in the sitting room of his uncle, sweet gods!. "It is all right. I am not offended. I just have a rather big note in my head to fix that, and fast."

"Well, you _are _sufficiently well ahead in your studies of the Path of the Silver Fire that you could take up something else besides." he said reasonably while applying himself to the pile of food on his plate.

"You tell me that you know how to use a falchion, Casavir Korranos, I slap you silly." I looked at him with narrowed eyes. "I could have used that knowledge before I got my face bashed in."

"No, I don't." he said calmly, pulling out his eating knife he always carried on his belt and cutting up a sausage. "I saw it used enough _against _me, though, to get interested, and, well…" there was that shrug again, which surely you had to be born with, and another of his slow smiles. My heart was leaping around in my chest again. "I figured this might be something we could learn together?"

"I…" I wanted to say something neutral and noncommittal, then thought about it.

_Truth_. I swore truth and openness and treating him as equal; being polite, I distinctly recalled, was not part of the deal.

"Trust you to come up with an idea of spending some time together." I looked at him sideways. "I have nothing against arms practice, you know, but since we already train together technically every morning, I am not sure that would be my idea of learning something together. You already promised to teach me to dance, and I do so hope you make good on that…" I bit into one of the pastries. The taste exploded in my mouth: morsels of white chicken meat, hard-boiled eggs, green Amnian olives and spices. "Oh. Mmm. This is good, you really ought to try one." I took a deep breath, reached out and took his free hand. "Listen, I am not saying I wouldn't mind learning curved blade geometry with you. But… maybe first you could invite me for another dinner at the _Mask_?"

There, I said it. I could almost hear my calm, sober and aloof celestial self screaming her lungs out in my head: '_Did you actually ask a man for a date, Rig? Have you no shame, woman?'_

"I _did _ask for this, didn't I?" he said in a musing tone after staring at his fork for about five seconds, and during which I think I could clearly hear my heartbeats.

"You sure did." I let the air out I didn't realize I was holding, put the plate down and leaned back in the chair, closing my eyes for a moment. I was still holding his hand in mine. "Nevertheless, I realize it might not have been the way…"

"As you are so fond of saying, my lady, you are no courtly dama." He regarded me with one of those deep azure stares of his that used to make me feel uncomfortable. Now, there were little thrills running down my spine every time he looked at me, I found. "I would not have expected you to hush me with kind words about how it would be nice to train together that will never be acted upon. As for dinner…"He stood up and bowed, formally, "… may I inquire how your schedule looks like for say, tomorrow evening, m'lady Arrighan?"

_He said my name…_

The juxtaposition between the stiffness of the bow and the smile that lighted up his eyes almost shyly as he said it, together with the sparks from where our auras were touching all of a sudden was delicate, almost fragile, but intense, and I could feel my breath speed up.

"It would be…" I whispered, trying to hold on to that fragile moment and willing it to last for a while before the reality of today intruded upon us again, "…It would be cleared of any previous engagements for this."


	37. Glory

-1**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections. It really helps me to get better, so please feel free to leave a review. Thanks for all of those who have already done so—you guys are great!**

**There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things. **

**For this chapter the following songs were played, lending inspiration: _Tristan and Ywaine_ from Ilan Eshkeri's soundtrackfor the lovely movie_ Stardust_; _Movement V _from Vangelis' _El Greco_; and the medieval hymns _Salve Virgo/Splendens Ceptigera_ from _Llibre Vermell_ by Sarband and _Gloria _from one of the best Gregorian chant collections out there, _The Best of the Benedictine Monks of St. Michael's_.**

**And the usual wishful thinking: I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… The Pendwyr girl is entirely my fault, though. J**

**Chapter Thirty-Seven: Glory**

The dawn was nearly upon us by the time Casavir and I got out of Nasher's study.

"I _definitely _have the feeling that I'll be busy in the next few days." I stretched a bit. I wasn't actually sore or stiff from the armor; there were times, after all, when I slept in it, even. It just… felt good to be out of that meeting, that chair, that room. I was looking forward to getting some sleep.

My human side snickered and added, '_And yes, it feels good to know that he watched you stretch, too, right?'_

'_Shut up, self.' _I told firmly to myself, trying to project the 'I am walking one step above the floor I am so aloof and detached' feel while avoiding looking at any of the guards on the corridors. I really shouldn't have had thoughts like that between fighting a bunch of thugs in a ransacked mansion, debriefing the ruler of Neverwinter about things learned in said mansion, listening to him strategizing with Nevalle and Ophala about possible ramifications of same news and finally coming to a decision and issuing orders that included mine as well as one sworn to Neverwinter's service.

"Not only you, my lady." His voice sounded hollow; as I glanced at him, I could see that his aura was almost dampened down to a small blue shimmer directly over his skin. "I'm afraid we all will have our plates full."

I stopped in the middle of an empty hallway, all of a sudden seized by a powerful feeling of dread. Did I miss a wound he received while we were in that basement, or was this some effect of a stray spell from Old Scab's pet sorcerer?

"You… _feel_ tired. Are you all right?" I grabbed his arm and searched his face for any sign of pain, cursing myself for not even thinking about this earlier. "Are you in pain?"

"I am…" I was reasonably sure that sentence started out as '_I am fine, my lady'_, but something made him not to finish it that way. "I am not injured, no, but… I could, indeed, use some rest. You are very… perceptive, my lady."

"That stupid spell makes it even worse, believe me." I shook my head, noticing the deep shadows under his eyes. "You might be able to hide it from everyone else, but I bet you didn't get much sleep lately."

"Not since your trial started." He returned my concerned gaze calmly.

"What…what do you mean?" Of course I knew he was worried about me, but that simple acknowledgement, coming from him, meant that he probably spent entire nights awake and at prayer.

"I couldn't bear the thought of possibly losing you… one way or the other." he said, stepping closer. He had to answer with the full truth. Paladins never lie and always answer questions directed to them.

"One way or… another." I said slowly, trying to keep the tremble out of my voice, rather unsuccessfully. _Gods_, I thought, _how can he make me feel so_… The expression Amie used, borrowed from one of her favorite romances, sprang into my mind unbidden, _'tormented by the sweet pain of love…_', and shook my body with the truth of it.

It made me afraid, mail shirt, sword, divine power and all, more than any of the horrors I've faced since I left West Harbor. I wasn't sure about this fragile thing; I just wanted to keep it, hold it close, and not to lose it in the tumultuous times that were coming.

And because of that, I tried for a lighter tone.

"Being skewered by Lorne would be one way. The other…?"

It didn't work; that tremble in my voice betrayed me, just like, I was sure, he was able to sense all the emotions storming across my aura.

"You have to ask, my lady?" His gloved hand traced the almost invisible god-marks under my right eye, light as feather. "With the Even-Handed laying his claim on you again with His runes, right before you defended His justice, shining with His light there in the hall, you were, yet again, almost unbearably far away." He took my face between his hands, his blue eyes so close, so close… "Arrighan Pendwyr, my lady, you are, indeed, the best thing that ever has happened…"

It was just as bright, shiny and glorious as the first time, his kiss. My arms around his neck, fingers buried in his hair; I could feel how his hands trembled cradling my face even through his gloves. No spell, no compulsion this time, just the sweet simplicity of the two of us…

No thoughts either: the air was silver and blue and crimson, my head light and my pulse racing when we parted; barely taking a breath, I tugged his head down and our lips met again, more insistent this time. I felt myself melt against him, wanting to get closer, even closer…

"Armor..." I felt, rather than hear him murmur breathlessly against my mouth, and with that, the real world and some rational thought returned.

"Sorry." I mumbled, aware of the way the metal links pressed into my linen undershirt quite forcefully, and I knew that he must feel just as uncomfortable as I did. "That will be painful…"

Despite that, I didn't want to go; I kept close, settling on burying my face in the crook of his neck where his cloak covered the mail and keeping my hands on his shoulders, waiting for my heartbeat to stop racing. "Sorry…"

"Stop apologizing…" he whispered into my hair, sounding just as much out of air as I knew I did.

"Oh. Sorry." I said without thinking, and started giggling like a little girl a second later, once I realized how ridiculous it was. I felt his shoulder shaking under my palms as he chuckled, too.

I could have listened to his laughter for hours; but this was not the place and time--I understood.

"We better go." he said then, and I reluctantly let go with a sigh.

"A lot to do today." I agreed, pulling on my own gloves; it was chilly outside, most definitely. Winter was upon us, and just now, I was grateful for the cold wind on my face.

Nasher wanted to send some guards to escort us home; I smiled inwardly as I remembered Ophala leaning to his ear, softly explaining that two paladins of Tyr can _probably _take care of themselves now that the Arcane Brotherhood's threat has passed from over my head. Thus, it was only the two of us exiting between the guards as the gate and making our way to the Winged Wyvern Bridge and beyond. I had several pieces of paper with plans and lists drawn up on them in my belt pouch: results of the night's planning in Nasher's sitting room.

"So how do you think they'll react?" I asked after we walked for a while in silence. The quiet that grew between us was not uncomfortable: I learned it a while back that he and I could not talk at all for a long time without feeling the need to break the silence.

"I don't think Khelgar would relish the idea of attending a ball, even disguised as a bodyguard." he said quietly. Again, I asked him a direct question, and again, he provided his answer in a thoughtful and well-organized manner that reminded me of his years spent as aide to one of the Nine and a leader of men. "But he'll do it, for you, my lady. I imagine you won't have a problem with any of the others, albeit it's quite possible you need to have a word with Neeshka about proper behavior at the house of someone we are supposed to protect."

"No kidding." I smirked. "We already talked about it with Shandra when we were at Sir Grayson's… she thought Neeshka would have tossed the silverware faster than I could have finished my coffee. And as for Khelgar… I am sure he'll understand once we explain it to him. He's reasonable."

Which just goes to prove that even paladins can be wrong, and spectacularly so.

Khelgar was about as reasonable as the table which he pounded with his fists as we sat in Duncan's storage room later that day. After a couple of hours of sleep and a bath I was even more optimistic about this whole plan, and since Duncan thoughtfully provided coffee, I even managed to smile encouragingly as I finished summarizing the plans for the next couple of days of our lives.

"So what you are saying…"Elanee frowned, "…is that as soon as Lord Tavorick returns from Waterdeep, we essentially have to move in to his estate until, and possibly after, this ball?"

"Us and a squad of Greycloaks, yes." I nodded. "They will provide visible security but they might be a bit too conspicuous during the more, um, upscale events and areas."

"'Cause _we'll_ blend right in." Neeshka smirked, touching a hand to her left horn. "What am I supposed to do, play a housemaid and take people's cloaks when visiting? Do I get one of those frilly aprons and little headdress thingies too?"

"And do you want to put me in a waiter's uniform, Little 'Un?" That was when Khelgar started to smack the table with his fist. Qara made a face and her fingers started too twitch, but the dwarf, as usual, paid no attention. "Well, lemme tell ya, that's the most fucked-up idea I've ever…"

"Actually, no." I said, standing up and looking at him with what I hoped was a stern expression. "Actually what I want _you_ to do is come with us to the Temple of Justice for the noon service." As his muttering of Dwarven curses sputtered to a halt and his jet-black eyes widened in surprise, I continued. "I think you have something to talk about with Prior Hlam about the Trial of the Even-Handed he laid on you." I cut off whatever else he wanted to say with an uplifted hand, and looked around; I had everyone's attention, still. Good. The entire plan was spreading out in my head like a map to follow, still vivid after spending hours listening Nasher and his aides piecing it together, and I wouldn't have had anyone mess it up for me, not just yet.

"And I'd ask the rest of you to study the layout of the estate and the list of the residents and the invitees to the ball. We will receive further instructions, equipment and some opportunity to take a look at the place starting tomorrow." I shrugged. "Of course, like every other one of our previous assignments, this is also entirely optional for every one of you. I'd just need a definite yea or nay by breakfast time tomorrow, if you would." I pushed my chair back to the table and looked at Casavir. "If you would please get Marcus from the kitchen… I think this is the best time to take care of him as well." He dipped his head in assent and disappeared towards the common room, with a still fuming Khelgar in tow. It was time to fulfill what I promised to do and find a place for Marcus where he and his talents could be, at last, safe. Being accepted as an acolyte of the Even-Handed was something Casavir and I agreed would be the best solution for him—much better than being an orphaned kitchen boy at an inn.

"You sure sound better and better to bark out orders, holy girl." Bishop was thoughtfully eyeing me, rocking his chair back and forth next to the little stove in the corner where Karnwyr slept curled up. "Must come with being a squire and having the favor of both your god and his fancy-mannered servant you just sent to fetch a little boy like some common servant, eh?"

"I _ask_ people, Bishop. There is a difference." I decided to, yet again, ignore the insinuation that was thick in his voice like poisoned honey. "Listen, I realize we often don't get along, but if you decide to help out in this particular case, I am sure something could be arranged to compensate you for your time and efforts. Lord Tavorick is a man of considerable means, I am told."

"Filthy rich, and too old to spend it all." Bishop sniffed. "Yeah, word gets around." His cold hazel eyes had a calculating look in them. "He'd be paying, you say?"

"I'd be willing to negotiate for compensation for your time at the same rate you received for your services when you tracked me down." I returned his look levelly. I heard about the amount he demanded from Sand and while I flinched at the sum, I was sure either Tavorick or Nasher's treasury could easily pay it. "Just like they should for all of those of my companions who are willing to sign up."

That was one of the times I was firm and resolute with Nasher last night. As paladins, Casavir and I were obligated to do this for merely the chance to do good, or for a monetary donation to the Temple, but my companions didn't have that luxury. I could certainly go to Hlam and the charity of the Temple if needed (and I had heard from Aevan years ago that traveling paladins on the quest of their god customarily depended on the various shrines for their cost of living, armor repairs, healing and gold for such mundane things as food and lodging on the road), but what would Elanee or Grobnar do, besides trying to sell whatever skills they had to have ends meet?

"So we _all _get paid this time." Bishop narrowed his eyes. "Which means this is just about the most dangerous thing you ever asked from us."

Perceptive, the arrogant ranger was, I had to give him that. But somehow I doubted if he was concerned abut the safety of anyone else.

"No one ever said you were stupid, Bishop." I gave him a wry smile. "So let me know by the morrow if you are interested in doing something more than downing ale and going into that old whorehouse called the _Dead Duck_, will you?"

"Thinking you can make me change my wicked ways, eh?" He shook his head, almost amused. "You'd be surprised how many women tried that, holy girl."

"Bishop, I am most definitely _not_ one of your women." I said, exasperated. "And really, I know better than trying to proselytize to you. Or for anyone, for that matter." I added after a pause. I wasn't a cleric, it wasn't my place and if I couldn't convince anyone through my deeds that Tyr was worth serving, then really, what good I was as His Chosen? "I still don't know why you keep sticking around, unless you really want to eventually catch a good beating from Casavir."

"At least you are honest about it." He leaned back on his chair, busy lighting his pipe. He somehow seemed oddly relaxed, and that sent faint warning signs to that part of me that was pure instincts and feelings. "But then, what with those marks about you, no wonder."

"Oh." I shook my head, remembering how he shrank from my gaze the morning of the Trial. "Listen, you really were a total ass that morning, Bishop. I won't say I am sorry because I am not; you insulted not only my god, but a good man who…"

"Yeah, sure." He shrugged. "You are who you are, holy girl. Your god is swift to judge, but then again, so are all gods." His hazel eyes glinted. "And I'll do you a favor and not start a discussion about His Lordship just now." He suddenly leaned forward and I felt one finger touch the runes under my eyes before I could do anything about it. "I wonder, though: did these hurt?"

"What?" I willed myself not to shrink back from his touch, despite the flare of revulsion that rang through my body, leaving the same sickly sweet taste in my mouth as every time I felt something dark and evil close by. "Did _what _hurt?"

"They look like they were etched into your skin. Was it done by fire, acid or knife?"

"Bishop…"It slowly dawned on me just what he meant and finally allowed myself to step back. "Those were not _made_. They… they are a part of me." I struggled with explaining just how the god-marks can appear—by Tyr's blind eyes, I barely knew anything about it either, not having the opportunity to really delve into their mysteries myself. "No one tortured me for hours to make me look like this…" I shuddered at the thought.

"Hm." He stood up in one smooth motion, again faster than I expected. "I see I assumed too much about how far your pet wizard or His Righteousness would have gone to protect you at your trial. Never mind, holy girl. "A strange smile spread on his lips. " I should have known, of course: acid spreads too fast, you can't have those straight lines; fire, even magical fire, tends to be uncontrollable for such fine job, and knife-marks might pucker up. Divine mumbo-jumbo, huh? Pretty impressive." The smile got a bit wider, exposing white canines, and growing almost feral. "Still, I wonder if it hurt."

With that, he turned and left me standing there to ponder just how exactly he learned about the effects of acid spread over skin or how puckering of knife-marks can be unsuitable for certain jobs. And I really didn't want to dwell on that long, because if I did, I might just have walked after him and pounded the answers out of his hide with my own blade. It made _me_ feel unclean, decidedly.

"Was he troubling you?" Elanee touched my shoulder, causing me to wrench myself back to reality. Her eyes were concerned. "Are you all right?"

"Fine." I sighed. "He was just his usual charming self, never mind." I fought the urge to run upstairs and scrub my face clean from his touch. "Thank you, El."

"We didn't get a chance to talk much, but…" she stopped and searched my face with that gaze I learned to identify as her motherly one. "Of course you can count on me with this latest mission of yours. "She vaguely waved a hand to where Neeshka and Qara were studying the meticulously drawn maps of Tavorick's estate, Grobnar's curly head popping up between them time to time. " And those three as well, I can vouch for. It's an adventure for them, an opportunity to shine. "She sighed, reminding me again that despite her youthful appearance, amongst my companions only Sand was older than her. "They are young and eager to show what they know… especially to you."

"I am not sure I merit such devotion." I said, feeling vaguely embarrassed.

She patted my arm with that motherly air about her in full swirl.

"You'll have to get used to it, child." Her serene expression turned into something mischievous. "Darmon says even Nevalle said some nice things about you lately. And that man is hard to please."

"I am _touched_." I said dryly and she giggled: a most un-Elanee-like sound. "Listen, El, I need to ask a favor. " I took her arm and turned towards the door, lowering my voice. " I really have to go and spend time at the Temple, but… I …" My voice faltered as I considered how to phrase this. "El, if you… say, suppose you were to go out with Darmon somewhere, um…for a dinner…what would be appropriate to wear?"

I felt myself flush bright crimson as she regarded me with a mildly amused expression on her face.

"Hm." She said thoughtfully. "And when would this theoretical dinner take place, Arrighan?"

"Um, tonight? " I offered, deciding on studying the toes of my boots. "At the _Mask_? I am kind of desperate, here..." I felt absurdly silly; here I was dressed for the Temple in my best outfit including a lace-cuffed shirt, hair braided up, nails scrubbed and all, and I was asking about what to wear for a dinner…

_Well, not just any dinner. A dinner with Casavir_, my human side snickered. _Hopefully it will be much different from your first one_. I could physically feel the celestial half of me sigh exasperatedly.

"It sure looks like it." Her eyes were dancing. "I will see what I can do. Fortunately, I am going to meet Darmon in an hour or so, and I think he's much better versed in such niceties than I." Her delicate copper cheeks flushed a bit. "We are having a…lunch, I suppose?"

I chuckled all the way to the common room, feeling oddly relieved. I was confident that she'd have an answer to that question; we conquered worse impossibilities before. From the way she furrowed her brows in thought when I left her after a quick hug, I knew she took this challenge up quite readily.

We arrived to the Temple early. The noontime service at the Halls of Justice I never attended before—usually my various duties only permitted visiting either the dawn or the evensong rituals. The Hammer at Highsun on the first day of the month of Nightal when it also was the Feast of the Seeing Justice was celebrated in front of a rather large congregation. I didn't quite realize just what an important time this was (just goes to show that at heart I was still a country bumpkin) until the four of us entered through the high gate and I beheld the scores of blue banners strewn along the walls, the garlands of cedarwood and oak, the hundreds of white candles illuminating the vast space with their flickering light... We were about to take a pew in the very back like I usually did, but were prevented by a rather excited acolyte who bid us to follow him to the sacristy where Prior Hlam and High Justiciar Oleff were preparing themselves for the service, donning the brilliant blue and Tyrran purple robes of the god.

Oleff took a swift look at us, and his thin mouth set into a determined line of one used to command and knowing exactly what to do.

"Let me see." he said dryly, motioning for the acolyte with his gloved hand to stay. "I need you, Chosen and you, young Korranos, to be in the front side pew in about five minutes for the service." I'm afraid I gaped at him: the front side pew was reserved as the place of honor, and I've never even dreamed about sitting there. "Kindly close your mouth, child; we have some visiting brothers and sisters from Waterdeep for this holy day and, as the Lord Nasher could not attend today, I trust you two understand the importance of your presence. I would have sent a runner for you had you not shown up, but I suspected you would remember, son." He nodded towards Casavir, who bowed his head.

_I trust you two understand the importance of your presence._ I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. A public appearance with the newly returned son of one of the oldest Houses, with me as the servant of the Even-Handed so spectacularly cleaned of Luskan's allegations. No doubt Oleff and Hlam, as the two leaders of Tyr's church in Neverwinter, had long discussions about this, and the significance of being presented in such way to both the congregation and the visiting clergy was not lost on us. I caught Casavir's eye, and to my surprise and relief I saw the same slightly bemused expression in them as I remembered him wearing last night as Nevalle and Nasher fussing over some details of Tavorick's ball and appropriate attire for us that needed to be prepared. All we missed is eye-rolling, really; I had to visibly restrain myself, but could not resist a sly wink in his direction, and the corner of his mouth turning upwards at that. I breathed a silent sigh of relief: we were in perfect agreement about this, then. All I had to do is just treat this as I always did: a service to the god and immerse myself in His power as the ceremony went on, and we should be fine. I knew Casavir would be by my side, and that made it all easier.

Oleff now turned his attention to Khelgar, while the two assistant priests surged forward, grabbing our cloaks and replacing them with brilliant blue-purple ones, with the god's symbol worked on their shoulders and backs in gold thread. I was vaguely aware of how my aura hummed with power as the fabric touched my shoulders; the god's magic was clearly woven into those golden threads.

"And for you, Master Khelgar, supplicant of the Maimed One…" His grey eyes regarded him for long seconds as Khelgar stood there unflinching, only the small shuffling of his feet betraying his nervousness. "I'll let Prior Hlam talk to you after the service, if it is still your wish to serve Our Lord. I know about the quests set in front of you, and I can tell that you completed them all." His thin lips formed a surprisingly gentle smile. "Especially the last one—there was hardly anyone in the Halls who didn't hear you professing how you felt the injustice in her trial by combat." He indicated me with his hand. "You had been His Chosen's faithful companion for the longest time; if it is still your heart's wish, the Even-Handed offers you a place in His service."

"Thank you, Yer Honor." Khelgar said gruffly, bowing. "I would like that." I could see the eagerness in his eyes, the same that was blazing there when he first talked to me about his desire to become a fighting monk of the Maimed One, but his time it was tempered with the changes his three quests brought forth in him. I grinned and felt my eyes moisten with tears of joy a bit—his long road, it seemed, has brought him to a safe harbor.

"And now…" I could hear the caution in Oleff's voice and he looked at Marcus, silently standing there next to Khelgar, looking back at the High Justiciar with his strange, pale eyes, "…now about the orphan who can See and has visions. Do you wish to stay with us and study the ways of the Even-Handed, child?"

"They aren't really visions... it's more like seeing something with another set of eyes, from a different angle." Marcus answered on his clear, high voice, still holding onto my hand the way he did all the way from the _Flagon_. "When I was little, it used to make me feel sick, and I'd have to close one set of eyes or the other." He looked at Oleff. "And yes, I'll stay here. That is what I have to do. _**He**_ told me the Halls of Justice will be my home one day." The way he said that reminded me of what he told me when I found him at the bottom of that dreadful well in Ember: "_It was important. __**He**__ told me_. _You will know when the time comes."_

"_**He**_did." Oleff cocked his head to one side. "I shall like to talk to you in private, young Marcus, before too long. For now, you will have lodgings and meals at the Acolyte House."

"I shall come and see you often." I said quietly as he carefully hugged me for one more time as I bent down to kiss his forehead.

"I won't forget you." he said seriously. "We didn't talk much after the trial, and I know you need to go now, but….there is something you need to know." Once again, it struck me how much older he sounded than his scrawny little child's body.

"Yes, Marcus?" I crouched down in front of him; I never liked to talk to children standing up, it was too intimidating, I always thought, what with my height the armor I wore more often that not.

"I should have told you right after your trial and the fight, but there was no chance. Maybe you can use this later." He shrugged. "That woman, Torio... she acted mean, but she was really just trapped and frightened. The big one, too... the one who killed all the people in Ember. Both of them were scared, and they didn't know what to do, so they pretended to be cruel. They pretended for so long that they forgot how to stop."

I swallowed.

"You mean Lorne, right?" I asked. That was still painful; I knew I didn't retain any scars on my face from the blow he dealt, but the wound caused by his words in the arena still pulsed with pain every time I remembered.

"Yes. The one who came from your village." He took a deep breath and for a second his eyes unfocused, as if he was trying to put something into words that was hard to express. "Some people get stuck on things from the past. They go over and over them in their minds, and it's easy for someone like me to see. Whenever I looked at Lorne, I saw a Fair… a Harvest Fair, I think?"

I nodded, wordlessly, I knew now what he was talking about. I heard it from Georg Redfell, leader of the West Harbor militia just before my last Harvest Fair started: the tale of Lorne and Cormick.

"He lost a fight there, years ago, and he wouldn't let that memory go. That's how he saw himself... as the boy who lost the fight." Marcus' hand squeezed mine: this was important, very important for some reason I had to figure out soon. "That's how memories are. The ones that stick in your mind... they come to define you."

"Thank you." I shook my head, trying to get it clear so I will remember his words.

"There is one more thing…"He leaned to my ear and whispered into it, the words coming almost jumbled. He was clearly troubled by this. "I must tell you this, too. When I look at you…with the Sight…You're getting... harder and harder to see. It's like you're falling into a void, a great blind maw, and it's going to devour you, no matter how you try to stop it." He took a deep breath. "I don't know much else, but… keep him close, okay?" He nodded towards Casavir, pleading in his eyes.

"I don't think that will be a problem." The words came to my lips before I could think about it, and first I was horrified. But the smile that appeared on Marcus' face, clear and radiant and happy, let me know that I said the right thing, the only thing that would make this child Seer calm down about this last vision he had and which, I knew, I will have to ponder once the service was over.

"Oh, good." he mouthed, sounding like the young boy he really was, and he gave me a last, decidedly boyish little wave of hand before the grey-clad acolyte led him out of the sacristy. I barely had time to straighten before one of the assistant priests was by my side again, offering me a set of ceremonial gloves—one black, one white, and started murmuring helpful instructions about how the service will go while I was pulling those on.

"We'll manage." Casavir dismissed the priest with a nod and a sweep of hand that was at once impeccably courteous and bore no argument. "Thank you, Father."

"As if I've never been to…"I grumbled, smoothing down the wide collar of the cloak. I felt a bit irritated over being treated like a village idiot who has no idea what to do during a religious service and had to be explained when to sit down and when to stand up, but I checked myself, remembering that no one here actually meant harm—they were just all a bit excited and on the edge for some reason. I figured it was probably the visiting clergy from Waterdeep.

"Wait." I whispered to Casavir, my voice considerably softer than it would have been a second ago because of that realization. I saw a bit of lint on his shoulder and picked it off carefully. "There." I turned and looked at Oleff and Hlam, who both watched us with a strange expression on their face. "I think we are ready."

"And I _definitely_ have to talk to you two after the service." Oleff said slowly, not taking his grey eyes off me. I felt oddly warm first: was he probing me with his Sight? Or –and my blood run like winter rivers all of a sudden—was he picking up on the effects of my inadvertent spell?

_Probably both_, I thought grimly, trying to chase the thought out of my head while the two of us filed out of the sacristy and headed towards our newly designated places, preceded by one of the assistant priests. I didn't feel like being lectured by the head cleric of Tyr about what I've done… but it was inevitable, and however much I attempted to push this from my mind, I knew from the very moment I felt that rush of power the ritual woke in me, that it was coming. I could only hope that what little I knew about Oleff was right and he wouldn't be stern and unyielding on us—especially on Casavir, who, really, bore the smaller weight in this.

I was very much aware of all the eyes on us and the whispers that rose as we took our seats, arranging our cloaks in careful folds draped over the side of the pew. Casavir on the right, I on the left; we probably made quite a picture. It amused me vaguely, that arrangement; despite the fact that both of us should have been able to get to our weapons easily, Casavir unselfconsciously maneuvered me into the place of the lady, yet again.

_I guess if anyone is crazy enough to attack a Tyrran temple at high noon, he will just have to protect me. _I suppressed a smile; it really wouldn't do to smirk right in front of His altar, after all. And, just then, the service began, with the sound of Tyr's gong struck by two priests from the side, and the procession of the clergy and the opening hymn sung from the choir to the sound of the organ took my mind off all mundane things.

It is hard to put it in words, how it felt, that very first service I attended since Tyr Chose me. I suppose it was a gift from Him, that I could completely shut off everything around me and immerse myself in His worship--Aevan, my teacher, from the very beginnings of my education emphasized the importance of discipline of the mind, since it was critical for both fighting skills and using divine magic. So even though I never attended Hammer at Highsun before, especially combined with the Feast of Seeing Justice, I had no difficulties following the service. The feeling, though, was much different from all that went previously: a definite sensation of some kind of shimmering silver cloud that gradually grew thicker and thicker around me, combined with the gentle beating of large feathery wings in my ears. As the exalted music and the singing of the choir rose higher and higher, I sang the responsorial, bent my knee, stood and sat, bowed my head and beat my chest in perfect harmony with the others, and yet, all the while I knew that while I was there in body, there was something in me that took flight, soaring above the congregation, up and away, longing to join a different choir and a different song that it will always strain for but never obtain in the mortal form it was constrained in.

I didn't contemplate my celestial heritage very often, even though lately I had ample proof that I had more than enough of that sphere's blood in me through my unknown father. But when the final chords of _Glory to Thee Most High, _the closing hymn of the service, died down and the last shimmering of the god's gigantic war hammer, conjured as an illusion by the clergy disappeared, I lifted my head from my clasped hands and looked at Casavir--and by the widening of his eyes and the utter reverence that settled on his face I knew that the god's marks were in full glow on my face again for everyone to see, including the full plate-clad Waterdeep delegation sitting right behind us.


	38. Becoming

-1**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections. It really helps me to get better, so please feel free to leave a review. Thanks for all of those who have already done so—you guys are great!**

**A note to those historically minded: the answer Arrighan gives to Mother Superior about her being in Tyr's grace was shamelessly paraphrased from the famous answer Joan of Arc gave at her trial; the parallel is fully intentional.**

**For this chapter the following songs were played, lending inspiration: _Maranatha _(Come, Lord) from Lisa Gerrard and Patrick Cassidy's _Immortal Memory_, _Divenire _from Ludovico Einaudi's _Divenire _and _The Tree _from Capercaille's _Beautiful Wasteland._**

**And the usual disclaimer: I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… The Pendwyr girl is entirely my fault, though. J**

**Chapter Thirty-Eight: Becoming**

Oleff's personal suite was rather impressive; so was the speed and efficiency with which the two of us were whisked to it once the ceremony was over.

"But the Waterdeep delegation…" I tried to say something, but the priestess by my side just shook her head, mouthed '_later, Sister, later' _and continued to politely but firmly steer me towards the side door. From the corner of my eye I could see that a blue and purple-clad priest was doing the exact same thing to Casavir, who made a little apologetic bow towards the Waterdhavians getting out of their pews behind us, with the practiced ease of a courtier, probably accompanied by a murmured phrase to the effect of '_apologies, but the head of the local Church is awfully pushy and insensitive towards diplomatic matters'_…

I shook my head to get those thoughts out of it; they were highly inappropriate, even though that was sure how it looked at the moment. Of course, I also knew that Casavir, proper and perfectly raised blueblood that he was, would never have had even implied anything like that, not even with his aura swirling with the colors of surprise and slight nervousness: orange and a bit of gray.

The head of Neverwinter's Tyrran church had a series of rooms on the first floor of the Chapterhouse directly adjacent to the Temple, directly above the Hall of Gatherings where the chapter council held its meetings. The gracefully arched windows of his receiving room overlooked the inner courtyard and its cloister. It was a clear winter morning on this first day of Uktar, and so the sun was streaming in through the panels of colored glass, painting prisms of crimson, azure and purple on the glazed tile floor and the oak furniture.

"I guess no chance of finding comfortable couches here." I muttered to myself; not that I expected to see anything like that. This was one of those stern and slightly intimidating rooms I imagined while growing up as places where high nobles and clergy lived: vaulted ceilings, stone walls, statues of Tyr and other religious carvings strewn about, a couple of rugs on the tiled floor, heavy oak tables, chairs and chests.

"For that, I am afraid, you'd need to go somewhere else, Sister." A cool voice rang out from one of the high-backed chairs near the table, and a compact, wiry woman with closely-cropped hair the color of steel blades, rose to greet me with the customary handshake of warriors. "His Honor is in his private chapel beyond that door, Brother." She nodded to Casavir who all of a sudden snapped to attention, his blue eyes widening in recognition and surprise at her sight. "He requests that you join him there while Sister Pendwyr and I have this… conversation."

"At once, Mother Superior." I've never heard him turning out such a crisp military answer, not even to Callum, his commander at Old Owl Well. He did a stiff nod, a turnabout on his heels, and before I could even blink, he was through the door and disappeared from my view.

"Well, now." The woman shook her head. "At least _that _he remembered from what I taught him." Her light gray eyes regarded me for a second. "I am Hadewiga Brangen; I used to serve in the Halls of Justice here as an instructor. "

"I am honored. " She was called 'Mother Superior" by Casavir--that was a title reserved for female heads of independent chapterhouses amongst the paladins of Tyr. Hlam was titled 'Prior' only as the paladins of Tyr in the city of Neverwinter cohabited with the clerics and monks of the Even-Handed at the Halls of Justice under the all-encompassing leadership of Reverend Judge Oleff. Technically she outranked everyone here, then, except Oleff. "I recall Casavir mentioning one of his lady instructors to me with fond words." I said, trying to lighten the mood. She seemed very cool and collected, but distant.

"Must not have been me, then." She sat back on her chair and beckoned me to take the one facing her on the other side of the window. "He never would have used my name and 'fond of' in the same sentence." A brief, tight-lipped smile followed that remark, and that, like sunlight, all of a sudden showed me something of the personality of this woman: grey steel, streaked with the blue lightning of the god, tempered with the fires of many, many battles, fought on the battlefield, and… elsewhere.

"I am not entirely sure why…" I started, then mentally slapped myself. I was talking to a paladin, after all. Straight questions, straight answers.

_I've been a Watch officer for too long, apparently._

"Mother Superior, to what do I owe the high honor of a personal audience with you?" I asked instead, while trying to make myself comfortable in the chair indicated.

"I came with the Waterdeep delegation for your trial, Sister." she answered in her precise, cool voice. "I am to have a personal examination of you." With that tight-lipped smile, she leaned back in her chair, keeping her eyes on me. "I am heading the Holy Office of Inquisition in Waterdeep."

"You are… " That came out of my mouth almost exactly the same time as I heard Casavir's enraged bellow from beyond the chapel door, loud enough to be clearly audible through the thick oak and stone walls, and to echo in the astral realm just as strongly with violet and purple waves.

"WHAT?" Heavy, almost running steps, and the door was burst open, before I could even draw a breath. Casavir appeared, almost as if propelled by the storm of his rage and anger, with Oleff at his wake, trying to restrain him in vain. "By the Hammer, Your Honor, I don't care if Piergeiron himself sent her, I will not allow…"

"Control, Casavir Korranos, control." Mother Hadewiga was out of her chair and staring calmly up at Casavir who was about a head taller. "I always tried to teach you that… I can see now why the orcs of Old Owl Well named you with one of their spirit names."

"Calm down, son." Oleff placed a hand on his arm, shaking his head. I could see a little amused smile on his lips and that made me feel a bit better; I realized my heart raced way too fast, partially in reaction of Hadewiga's revelation, partially due to my connection to Casavir. "You are not doing yourself, or to her, any good by losing your temper in such a manner."

"But the _Inquisition_!" His azure eyes held silver flame in them as he glared at Hadewiga. "Mother Superior, how can you for a moment…"

"You forgot a lot about politics since you left your fair city, I see." she said, calmly sitting back in her chair. "I wished to do this differently, but I see now that the bond between the two of you is already too strong. Sit, then, and try to breathe normally: no one will do any harm to Sister Pendwyr here. Otherwise why would it be me who volunteered to accompany the delegation?" She shook her head. " Truly, Casavir--you were my favorite pupil during my career as an instructor, but I see that you need some serious refreshers of self-discipline."

I snorted reflexively, and they all looked at me with varied expressions of surprise.

"I'm sorry." I said, knowing that the grin that spread on my face was entirely inappropriate for the occasion. "I really don't mean to be disrespectful here or anything. But if I've ever known someone with almost perfect self-control, it would be him." I wasn't sure why my supposedly existing courtly manners stopped working all of a sudden; I even had a slight West Harbor accent creeping back to my voice. I caught a rather startled look from Casavir--but as he observed the smile on my face, he calmed down visibly fast enough.

"I appreciate the concern, Casavir." I told him, to reinforce that feeling. "I'm, however, sure that this is nothing more but the usual caution that anyone in the position of…" I recalled the name and its pronunciation successfully from my rudimentary studies of Northern lore with Brother Merring, "…Lord Piergeiron of Waterdeep would wish to exercise." I took a deep breath and saw the glint of reluctant approval in Hadewiga's gray eyes. "So the fact that it is your old tutor who came to sniff out whether I'm a witch or not is actually a compliment. At least I'll take it as such."

"You have guts, girl." Hadewiga slapped her knee and leaned forward in her chair to look at me better. "I give you that. That counts a lot amongst us; you know that there are very few of us who see our fortieth birthday. Tyr's paladins are always in the frontline of wherever evil should be fought."

I nodded, not taking my eyes off her: I felt calm all of a sudden, as if, yet again, I was set on a path than I knew I had to walk but on which I was not alone.

"So I take it this is one of those steps in some deep political game that silly _frontline warriors_ such as Casavir and I cannot fathom?" I managed a suitably neutral expression.

"I don't think you'll have any problems maneuvering the circles of nobility when it comes to that, girl." said Hadewiga dryly and looked at Oleff. "Might as well sit down, you two; I suspect this is Our Lord's punishment for all my past sins." She waited until the two men took their seats then turned her attention back to me.

"The Lord Piergeiron is your Nasher's staunchest ally against the Luskan threat. And since he is, at the same time, the head of our order in Waterdeep, he personally selected me to carry out this particular assignment, before the Council sends someone else. The delegation that came to observe the trial was not simply composed of Tyr's warriors you saw in the Temple today." I vaguely recalled some richly dressed nobles and merchants with the insignia of Waterdeep on their robes and doublets sitting amongst the visiting dignitaries at my trial. "There are sixteen Lords of Waterdeep, and only one of them is Unmasked."

"So they want to know if I am a fake?" I asked, a bit impatient. "I thought we were over this…"

"No, Arrighan." Casavir's voice was back to its cool, formal tones, but there was a deeper hurt there somewhere, one that I instantly became aware of. "There is much more to it than that. The Lords of Waterdeep sent their diplomats and merchants to sniff out how the balance would shift with another of Tyr's Champions in Neverwinter. " I reminded myself that Nasher himself was dedicated to the Even-Handed, even though he was no paladin. "Once here, and confronted with the fact in the court hall during your trial and later, at the arena, that you were indeed who you were, and seeing the evidence of my return to the city, they had to improvise, and fast." He bowed slightly towards Hadewiga. "Mother Superior, if you would accept my apologies; you may impose whatever punishment you see fitting for the rude behavior I exhibited. I can see now that what you are trying to accomplish is for the good of us all, and for the strengthening of the alliance between Lord Piergeiron and Lord Nasher."

"Indeed." The woman inclined her head. "I accept your apology; however, I think it prudent to let the High Justiciar here handle the matters of his own flock. I am already thrust into a situation where I should meddle more in Neverwinter's internal affairs than I care for." There was a quick smile towards Casavir. "Your assessment of what's transpiring is astute, Lord Korranos. I see that you, after all, are capable of some self-control such as… your lady claims."

I felt myself flush crimson at her addressing me like that, and sensed some deep amusement from both her and Oleff as they regarded us with their clear gaze almost in unison.

"Come now, child." Oleff's voice was almost gentle. "Obviously one of the reasons I needed to talk to you two was your recent… bond you formed."

"It isn't recent." I muttered, even though I sounded rather petulant even to my own ears. I felt a bit offended, though. How could they think that this was nothing more but a…

"Of course your feelings are not just sprung up on a moment's notice, Arrighan." The High Justiciar's voice was chiding now. "And of course this is… must be… rather uncomfortable for you. For the both of you." he said, glancing at Casavir who sat with absolutely no expression on his face--I knew from the swirling of his aura, though, that he was everything but unemotional right this moment. "But I sensed a change in you two the moment you entered the sacristy before the service… and I have to make sure…"

"You have to make sure…" I said slowly, rolling the words on my tongue carefully, so my enunciation was as crisp and clear as his. "Why?"

"Pardon?" Oleff sounded taken aback by my question, and that almost tipped me over the edge. What he said last, however, definitely did. "What do you mean, child?"

_There's that word again_.

_I really, really start to get tired of that word._

"Just that." I felt my words heating up, despite my efforts to stay calm and collected." I'm a simple soul, after all. Why do you have to make sure and _what _exactly is the thing you need to make sure of?" I lifted my gaze from my knuckles slowly and looked at them. It was all well if they needed to be sure about me being a trie paladin and one called by the One-Handed…but to pry into my deepest personal feelings and affairs with which I myself only recently came to terms?…"That I didn't bewitch Casavir with my womanly viles? That he didn't fool around with Tyr's Chosen like some noble son with the tenant's daughter in the haystack?" As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew, with the weight of all the power the god ever gave me, that that was exactly it, however crudely it sounded.

_Sometimes Truth was crude, yes._

I didn't have to use the Sight; I couldn't have dared anyway-- this was the High Justiciar of Neverwinter, and the Inquisitor of Tyr from Waterdeep, after all, and doing something like that would have invoked instant excommunication. But as surely as I knew when Aevan, my teacher spoke to me the first time about the Even-Handed, that being His warrior was my path in life, I knew that these two attempted to meddle, to control, to influence… They did it driven by the best intentions, to be sure… but this was my life, and Casavir's, and we have proven ourselves countless times as full adults and shed our blood enough for Neverwinter and Tyr.

We surely deserved more trust than this.

Before I knew, I was out of my chair and drawing myself up to my full height, my words coming precise and biting like a good sword strikes its target.

"Why, Mother Superior, do you want to send the men out so you can examine me to see if my maidenhead is still intact?" I felt the marks on my face heat up, and the same feeling welling up in me like in that carriage back from the cemetery when I faced down three men over what I felt, what I _knew _was narrow-minded bickering. "Your Honor, did you plan on using Truthsaying on Casavir to see if he went farther in binding himself to me then he already has confessed to both you and Prior Hlam previously?"

I felt the silver heat of my anger rippling through the air like a whiplash, silver lightning crackling and whistling.

"Or can you both trust us to do what is right and what needs to be done, as brother and sister to you in Tyr, trust us as Chosen and her Champion… that we walk His way the way we do, in His light and with His blessing? Can you, High Justiciar of Neverwinter and Inquisitor of Waterdeep _trust us the way Our Lord does_?"

I let that silver power coil around me, and looked at them again. Both Oleff and Hadewiga were pressed into their chairs, faces white like marble, veins pale blue on their foreheads.

"Mother Superior, Inquisitor of Waterdeep, who question whether I am in Our Lord's grace, I tell you this: _if I am not, may Tyr put me there; and if I am, may Tyr so keep me_. Tell the Lord Piergeiron and the Masked Lords that Neverwinter is, and always will be true to the Maimed God. Whatever this new power, the rising of which trouble their dreams, is, we will face it together." I remembered those masked Shadow Priests, the hovering, hungry shadows of dead acolytes, the vision of an enormous, horned dark figure towering over me in the ring of five statues…

_Chosen of the Even-Handed. _

I took a deep breath and finally voiced what I knew in my heart of hearts for a while now.

"_I _was called to face it. Tell them that Tyr's Chosen will be ready when the time comes."

I wasn't exactly sure how I found the exit, but next time I actually was aware of my surroundings, I was outside the Halls of Justice, breathing just a little bit heavier than normal, walking down the avenue leading towards the bridge. It was sunny still, but windy. I felt the folds of my cloak open and spread around me-- just like the great city of Neverwinter opened up and took me in the moment I entered its gates months ago. I knew now that I belonged here, just like I belonged to West Harbor, and that my heart would always be in two places. Wherever the god's will would take me, the city and the village, like the two twin parts of my heart and soul, celestial and human, would forever be my homes in equal measure--until, perhaps, one day, I shall be granted another.

I didn't slow down--I knew he would catch up with me.

He always did.

Again, we didn't say a word for a good while, but words were not needed. I could feel he was trying very hard to maintain a kind of blank façade over his aura and emotions as well as over his face--I let him do that for a while, then, halfway into the Docks already, I shook my head exasperatedly, slowed down and caught his arm.

"Don't." I measured between my teeth.

"Pardon?" He was so deep in his own head that it took him a couple of seconds to register I was by his side and to reply.

"Don't shield from me, please." I hoped I didn't sound to harsh or cold; my voice, I knew, must have been a bit hoarse from all the emotions I used up in Oleff's rooms. "Truth you asked from me. Can I have the same from you?"

"I have no intentions to hide anything from you, my lady." His deep, thoughtful voice felt to me like spring water to a pilgrim after a long day of travel. I realized that, after all, I missed it. "I merely attempted to test a theory about our… bond." He cast a long gaze towards me. "I should have realized, however, how it might seem to you especially after what happened back there, and for that I apologize." He bowed slightly, with impeccable grace, and it was all of a sudden I who felt ashamed by even thinking that he tried to cover his inner self from me. "You had, of course, been in the right: Waterdeep should not have attempted to send a witch-sniffer after you, and I believe the High Justiciar committed an error in judgment allowing the Mother Superior access to you."

"I can hardly believe he could have refused." I said; I wasn't sure enough in my knowledge of the hierarchy of Tyr's Church to make a meaningful comment on that--I made a mental note, however, to ask Casavir about it later.

"Refused, no. " he said. "He, however, could have notified you ahead of time, instead of simply putting you into such situation."

"And you." I smiled at the memory. "I don't think I've heard you bellowing like that, not even in battle, ever."

"With just cause, my lady, even I am allowed to lose a bit of my self-control, I believe." He lifted an eyebrow with a decidedly self-mocking twist of his lips in return. I looked at him fondly; I started to suspect that behind the calm and collected façade of Casavir, paladin of Tyr, there was something much more similar to what gave the Neverwinter River its ability to never to freeze over: the always fiery heart of Mount Hotenow. I caught myself realizing that I wished to see more of that side of his.

"I deeply respect Mother Superior Hadewiga, you surely understand that, my lady." he continued, after I chuckled a bit over that remark about his self-control. "She was my best tutor with the sword and with the discipline of mind at my most vulnerable and thus most impressionable age: from fourteen through eighteen. I will never lose the respect I feel towards her for that; however, I can now see how she can be too rigid and unbending in following the orders of her superiors and how she can be placing the 'greater good' above the weight of an individual's needs in all cases, without exception." He shrugged. "You might feel this is an unorthodox view for a formally trained Tyr paladin, my lady. The Even-Handed knows, I felt alone enough after my first two-year assignment out in the frontlines at Old Owl Well as Callum's adjutant when I had to return to the city for a brief time. But in addition to that, spending almost ten years away from Neverwinter in wood and mountain can teach much in the way of seeing a lot in a different light, and more." He smiled briefly. "And after, time spent in your company, my lady, allowed me a deeper understanding of my past, and strengthened the resolve of not committing the same mistakes some of my superiors can be prone to."

"Just watch out that you are not accused with heresy…" I murmured cautiously. "Do I understand that Oleff and Hlam eventually need to account for the risk they've taken with me?"

"The only body that could do that is the Grand Council of the Church, my lady, and that was last time called together for no smaller matter but for the Time of Troubles." He shook his head. "I should like to think that our church has better things to do on the lands of Faerun near and far than to fall into the same trap Helm's followers did after their Maztican adventures… but that's a tale for another day." he added as he saw my expression of confusion. I had no idea what he was talking about.

"No, really, I would like to know about the Helmites and… Maztica?" I pronounced the name carefully.

"The land of Maztica is where your most beloved chocolate comes from, my lady." he said, with deep amusement evident in his voice. "However, I think that story and other historical and educational topics we should perhaps reserve for our dinner tonight?"

"Oh." I almost blushed; I nearly forgot that. "Of course."

"I should spend the afternoon with some errands, my lady, but shall we make use of your uncle's excellent Neverwintan clock and meet up at, say, at the stroke of six bells?" Obviously he thought about this ahead of time, and probably very carefully; that phrase was just a tad too smooth. I felt my coming smile almost splitting my face.

"Sure." I was relatively sure my voice sounded sufficiently normal. "That sounds… uh, perfect."

_Great, just great, Rig…_ I heard my inner voice say._ One minute you word-smite the High Inquisitor of Waterdeep with perfect theological conundrums, and the other you grin like a sixteen-year-old village girl and lose whatever little dignity you possess just because you realize yet again that the man you go to dinner with actually cares…?_

That sixth bell couldn't come fast enough, of course. I had to work a fair bit that afternoon, myself, so truth to tell, I barely noticed his absence once I sat down. There was still a stack of unanswered invitations on that table in our operations room that needed to be handled (accomplished with much pen-chewing and some advice from Sand regarding suitable turns of phrases), a couple of questions regarding our upcoming move to the Tavorick estate (including calming down a slightly panicked Duncan who needed to be reassured that no, we are not moving out permanently, and no, most definitely Shandra will be allowed to come back from time to time. Shandra was deeply amused by this, of course), and signing for the first rush of crates and barrels full of clothes, armor, weapons and assorted other equipment that were delivered to the Flagon's back door quietly and under the pretense of a supply shipment.

"Some pretty spiffy stuff here, Rig." Neeshka said as she examined some of the contents. "Did you make a list for requisitioning them or…"

"We provided a few recommendations, yes, but you can imagine that some of Lord Nasher's advisors actually know how to equip an elite strike force when they supposed to do covert work." I watched her admiring a bracer that seemed to be lightweight and supple, yet crackling with magic.

"I bet." Neeshka snorted. "Wow, I guess this means I am part of an 'elite strike force' huh? Sounds mighty important… may even be better than Greatest Thief on Neverwinter, what do you think?"

"Certainly better if it comes up in polite conversation…" I smiled at her. "Not that it ever should."

"Understood." She grinned back. "So do you think it'd be okay if I'd borrowed these bracers for tonight?"

"Borrowed." I looked at her, but she studiously avoided my eyes. "Going out?"

"Well… Duncan's going to shut the Flagon up for tonight and takes us out for somewhere…"

"Hold it a sec." I lifted a hand. "Did I hear that right? My Uncle Dunk is treating you for… who is 'us' exactly and where're you going?" I had this horrible vision of running into the entire group at the _Moonstone Mask_…

"There is a play that he wanted to show us at the Round Theater that apparently is a must see. A tale of love and intrigue and deception and much swordplay, written by a half-orc bard from Thesk, of all things." Neeshka winked. "Yes, we're going to enjoy the arts. Shocked?"

"It's…unusual." I said cautiously.

"Heh. If you'd leave your paladin prejudices behind…" She ducked my raised arm and squealed. "Help! Help! Somebody help! I am oppressed, yet again!"

"Overacted, my dear." I grinned and refilled my mug from the carafe Duncan so thoughtfully provided earlier. I wasn't sure I needed that coffee, as I was rather wired anyway, but old habits die hard. "No one believes you're a damsel in distress if your freckles dance so mighty happy around your nose. So… Who's going, again?"

"Well, he invited pretty much everyone… even Qara and Bishop." Neeshka frowned. "I hope they don't keep Khelgar at your temple for long… he'd like a good play, I'm sure."

"Hm. Maybe, maybe not." I had the feeling that what Khelgar would do at a theatrical performance would probably result in several broken noses, but I resisted to say it outright. "I'm not sure either… I guess if he doesn't show up, you can always stop by the Halls of Justice and inquire."

"Me?" Neeshka puffed up her cheeks. "Don't be ridiculous, Rig… either I'd break out in hives, or the acolytes'd run screaming to the altar and I'd get smitten by your god for ever setting foot there."

"I definitely don't think so." I said sharply. She looked at me with a slightly surprised expression on her face. "Sorry, Neesh, but I think we established quite a while ago that you're not evil and just because you had some unfortunate ancestry that you couldn't really choose, it doesn't mean that…"

"Sorry, sorry…" She lifted a hand in a placating gesture. "Bad habits die hard. Didn't mean to…"

"Is she being paranoid again?" Elanee spoke up from the door, pulling off her gloves; her cheeks rosy from the brisk wind outside. "Just leave it to me, Arrighan, I'll try to talk some sense into her tonight." Her eyes sparkled up with some mischief. "And speaking about tonight-- you need to go up to your room and start to get ready. I left something there for you; hope you'll like it." She shrugged gracefully. "The best I could do on such short notice, but fortunately Darmon knew a place that was most amazing--I really need to take you there soon."

"Oh. Is it that late?" I jumped up and caught my mug just in time from spilling its contents all over the table, including all the neatly folded and sealed replies I worked on all afternoon. "We're supposed to meet at six…"

"Hey, you're having separate evening plans?" Neeshka's ears pricked up; I swear I could see her horns twitching.

Before I could answer, Elanee stepped in firmly and took her by the arm.

"You just go ahead, dear." she said gently, but her eyes were glinting with determination. "Me and Neeshka can take over the inventorying or whatever it was that you were doing here until we're due going out too. I'm sure she can fill me in on what needs to be done." She waved. "Off with you!"

I had about a dozen questions on my tongue-- what was this place, how did Darmon know about it, how come that my cool and collected elf friend was all of a sudden so excited about a place that sold clothes, how much did I owe her, how did she know I'd like it, what will she tell Neeshka… but looking at her I saw that characteristic expression on her face that I knew meant that she was _not _to be argued with. Once Elanee was set on a path, nothing could deter her from going all the way through-- or else making sure that everyone she wanted to walk it was marching to the drumbeat she dictated.

I swallowed what I wanted to say, nodded, flashed a smile towards Darmon who was standing politely aside at the door to let me out, and tried very hard not to run all the way to my room to see what Elanee left me there.

"Oh, my." That's all I could say when I saw it. It wasn't that much at the first sight; but even I could recognize a very high quality heavy silk when I saw it, and the more I looked, the more liked it. No embroidery, no other adornments--just the material itself, in the color of early evening sky, grayish blue, ankle-length, with long, slightly fluted sleeves. That deceptively simple cut had some definite subtlety in it, however, I realized, after I scrubbed myself in my washbasin; I was quietly thankful that I saved a little piece of a scented soap I picked up for some reason the first time I ever went shopping in the city, the same time I got that late lamented lacey nightgown. The fact that it had absolutely no decoration, meant that unless someone had a rather good figure, it showed every imperfection. I trusted Elanee found me the right size--because of my shoulders and hips, I had a rather peculiar outline Neeshka once described as 'breeder hourglass' and which made me chuckle even as I thought about it now.

Luckily enough, the skirt was rather flowy from the hips, so there was no problem with strapping on my dagger and its sheath on my thigh, without which I really would have felt myself naked. I assumed it was easier for Casavir to include a sword with his evening attire. I would have to ask him what to do for the ball itself when it came to that point. _Girls get the short shrift every time_, I thought. Somehow I suspected it wouldn't have gone down well if I included a sword belt and a visible weapon.

I gave up the fight with my hair; I figured, this was just a dinner, not Tavorick's ball. I will fret over it then, maybe even ask Elanee too help. Now, I just didn't want to be late, so I braided it and secured the end up at the nape of my neck with a ribbon the same color as the gown Elanee included along with the soft, slipper-like shoes I found in front of my bed, made from the same silk. They fit, which was another miracle. My feet aren't small or dainty.

"All right, Arrighan, here goes nothing." I murmured, deciding to interrogate Elanee first thing tomorrow about where she found all of this. As a last thing, I fiddled with my money pouch, slightly panicky about where to put it, before I noticed the little silk bag on my bed. It was just big enough to slip some coins in it; then I grabbed my blue cloak and run out, hoping I wasn't too late.

"Not too late, I hope?" I arrived at the bottom of the stairs a bit out of air; Casavir was talking to Duncan, and they both looked up and grinned at me with an expression on their face that immediately made me suspect they were discussing something they _didn't _want me to know.

"So, then." Duncan said, nodding. "I best be going to get ready for my own night out…Thank you, milord, for the advice." he said to Casavir who shook his head exasperatedly.

"It is just Casavir, Duncan." he murmured; somehow I knew I would hear that a lot in the days coming. His newly found out status already made Sal nervous enough that he stuttered every time he had to talk to him, and Shandra told me Duncan was wondering whether he would move back to his family's old palace in Blacklake.

"You be careful out there." Duncan gave me a peck on the cheek, accompanied with a nervous smile, and strode off towards the back.

"What the Hells was that about?" I asked Casavir. "If I hadn't known better, I could have sworn he was as nervous as a girl before…" I bit my lips; I wanted to say 'like a girl before her first date' before I realized that would have been… well, that would have been me, right now.

"Well, he was just…" He cleared his throat; obviously he caught my meaning. "He just had some questions about something and I was happy to oblige…" The sentence trailed off as his eyes slid over my attire, and as the blood rushed into my cheeks I knew that he liked it. Very much, in fact.

_I am going to owe so much to Elanee._ I thought, as I tried very hard not to get attuned to those emotions storming through his aura.

"What?" I said brightly to overcome that, and fast. "I washed my face before I came down… is there something amiss?"

"There's… no, nothing is amiss." Another second passed before he spoke again: I swore my heartbeat could have been heard out on the street, even. "I…well, we better be going, I think. The carriage is outside."

"The…what?" I thought I heard that wrong. Surely he didn't…

"You… seemed to imply, this was to be… properly done." Was there a slight smile there? "So I took the liberty of engaging… means of transportation through the nighttime streets of our fair city?" Yes, so help me Tyr, he was smiling! "I wouldn't have you step into mud with those shoes, after all."

"Oh." I glanced down. But he couldn't have known, could he? "I'm amazed El found them in my size, anyway…"

"It's Neverwinter." He shrugged. "You could probably find those in my size too, for the right price." He looked at me almost apologetically. "Not that I…"

"Relax." I grinned; yes, this was going to be a beautiful evening, I already could feel it. "I promise I'll never ask you to wear one, okay?"

"That is the best thing I've heard all day, my lady." He offered his arm. "Shall we…?"

"So the dress is… all right?" I asked as we stepped out. It was a black carriage, drawn by two dappled mares; the driver, a stout dwarf, who could have been Khelgar's cousin for all the beard and gruffness, didn't even glance at us as Casavir helped me up. I was so busy explaining away the dress that I barely even noticed the fact that we was doing it. "I mean, it's not… it's obviously not made for me, it's just…"

"It's fine, my lady." He waited until I arranged my skirts, then got in himself. "It's… very fine. Not that I… am a real authority on the subject, you understand."

"Because _I _am." I snorted, relaxing somewhat further into the seat. "Apart from that gown at the trial, last time I wore a skirt, I tore it when I kicked a teamster in the… well, better not to say where. I kicked him because he said something nasty to Amie in a very… physical fashion."

"Oh, really?" he said, one eyebrow quirked. "That's a story that I would very much like to hear, if it doesn't trouble you to tell it."

"Not much to tell." I shrugged. "I worked at the Buckmans' alehouse when it was trade season for some years and we needed the coin. Amie was, too, and when some of the boys out of town got a bit too… friendly with her, I stepped in before she had to burn their beards off with a spell. I figured it's better for them to get a broken rib or two from a girl than to get spanked by a mage's apprentice… they might wait for her after dark, and all that. I got called some most unkind names implying I was her lover, but there was not much I could do about that, except punch that one in the nose again. Stop blushing!"

"Sorry." He had the good graces to look sheepish. "It's just… I am trying to picture the scene, and my mind is failing."

"Good." I nodded vehemently. "It was a rather terrible skirt anyway, gotten secondhand from Galen, our traveling merchant, but that was the period when Retta and Daeghun tried to make me behave like a proper young lady should… you know, in between the times of my training with Aevan." I shook my head. "But enough about me and my skirts… rather, tell me, _what _in the name did Duncan was in such a fuss about?"

"Um… I am not at liberty of saying." He looked a bit uncomfortable. "Please don't ask me that." _Uh-oh_. That was the standard paladin way of saying 'if I answer that direct question, I would be betraying trust'. "That is… I am sorry, but he… surely he'll tell you if…when…"

"Goodness, Casavir, that's worse then usual." Indeed, that was some of the worse stuttering he ever managed. I blew out my lower lip, then caught myself and forced a more neutral expression. "Fine, be that way. I'll just get it out of him in the morning."

"Yes, perhaps best if you ask him yourself." he nodded, then spoke again, still stumbling over the words in a most endearing fashion. "I hope this… doesn't mean you will not… enjoy this evening, I mean, if you have second thoughts, we could…"

"No, I don't." I leaned forward and took his hand in mine. "I think this is going to be a great evening, I really appreciate that thought of not having to traipse through the cold streets in my fine, fine attire…" I sighed. "And spending some alone time with you well… that's just wonderful, too. Things are… certainly moving rather fast lately and… to tell you the truth, I am not sure when we could find another time."

"Oh, I am sure something could be arranged." He chuckled and I grinned back, squeezing his hand. There were little streaks of the color of spring carnation across his aura, mingled with pale rose. I've never seen those before… but as I looked inward for a moment, I had to realize he was merely mimicking mine rippling with those same hues over my crimson and silver.

"M-hmmm." I sighed, smoothing a lock of raven-black hair back from his forehead. I noticed there was always one out of place. "I hope so."

Ophala herself greeted us at the door: she was wearing one of her dazzling black velvet gowns, sleek and slim. With obsidian-black pearls embroidering its bodice, it made a stunning contrast with her creamy white skin.

"Ab-so-_lutely _perfect." she said as she took in my attire. "Your friend from the Mere has a surprising knack for color and cut." I felt my eyebrow rising; I had no idea how she knew that Elanee shopped for me. She must have noticed my surprise because she winked an lifted a slender finger in front of her perfect lips, indicating she might talk to me later about it. "But I am being rude, having you stand on my doorstep like common people. My lord, welcome." She executed a perfect curtsy, behaving for all the world like we haven't spent half of last night huddled together over maps and lists and steaming mugs of coffee in Nasher's study, planning out an entire week's worth of personal protection plan for one of the city's foremost aristocrats. "Our kitchen is already preparing your supper; let me show you to your dining room."

The way the _Mask _was set up was very clever, Cormick explained it to me when he took me with him the first time. You didn't necessarily have to get through the common room to be ogled by everyone if you wished for privacy. If they knew you, or if you arranged for it beforehand via a messenger, someone greeted you at the entrance as your carriage drew up, and then, instead of going straight and entering the large common room, they guided you to the left from the small entry corridor, through a thick oak door, up directly to the first floor where the private rooms were. The way Cormick told me, this was set up back in the days when the _Mask _used to be a festhall as well as just a rather pricey and upscale dining and meeting place.

Thinking about that first visit made me feel guilty a bit about almost completely forgetting about the Marshall, too.

"If I have time, I need to go and see Cormick tomorrow." I murmured to Casavir as we followed Ophala up the stairs. "I feel bad about not seeing him today."

"He's doing fine, my lady." He smiled at me, still holding my hand from where he assisted me from getting out of the carriage. "One of my errands today was to go over to the Ilmater temple and make sure he's all well. I hope you forgive me for being so bold as to convey your wishes for his speedy recovery; I also lit a candle in your name at the altar for him. He sends his greetings and hopes to be back on his feet by the end of this Tenday."

"Oh." I felt myself moved by his thoughtfulness. "That was…very kind of you. Thank you. I am… relieved."

"Good, then." He nodded. "I thought that might weigh on your mind."

"Ah." I felt myself smile; I started to suspect some considerable planning went into this evening on his part. "I see now… you wanted to make sure I am not occupied by… other thoughts?"

"I know you somewhat by now, my lady." His azure eyes held little sparkles. "You let yourself worry about others first before you think about your own thoughts, wishes and…" He didn't get a chance to finish, as Ophala drew up in front of a somewhat familiar door.

"Our Blue Room, as requested, milord… you will find it somewhat rearranged from when last time you'd been here." She flashed a quick smile at me. "We like to rearrange our interiors from time to time to keep up the… charm of the place?"

"And to make sure no one can plan anything untowards against their dining partners based on the room layouts, no doubt." Casavir inserted smoothly.

"Milord is most perceptive indeed." Ophala curtsied. "Supper and entertainment should be here in short order."

"Entertainment?" I said with a bit of suspicion as she opened the door for us and glided back down the hall towards the stairs again. "What did she mean by that?"

"I figured since we'll have to make do in a rather… high-society setting relatively soon…" He smoothed his hair down nervously as he stepped though and stood aside allowing me to enter and closing the door behind us, "…you and I might as well get some practice. So: I asked to have this arranged similarly to a private dining and sitting area of a highborn's estate--Ophala is good about this kind of thing. We'll also have a relatively simple dinner but with some tricky courses so you can familiarize yourself with some dishes that might not have yet crossed your plate. And, well, getting used to having musicians and entertainment around and keeping up conversation is also part of that… May I take your cloak?"

"Yes Sir, Commander Casavir, sir." I said, and watched him blush. "I meant that in the best possible way, don't worry. I…" I looked around, trying to find the right words and I realized that it was easy. "I _like _the way you planned this. Very… carefully and thoroughly and…" I surveyed the room that, indeed, looked a lot different from last time. "And I think I will just let myself to be carefully and thoroughly guided." I took a deep breath and unclasped my cloak, fully aware that what I said would earn me a frown and a stern lecture about '_double entendre_' from Retta. "Will that be all right?"


	39. When The Moon Was Overhead

-1**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

_**--Yes, I am a foodie. If this was not evident to you yet, Dear Reader, I am afraid there will be no doubt after this chapter.--**_

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections. It really helps me to get better, so please feel free to leave a review. Thanks for all of those who have already done so—you guys are great!**

**The poem of the 'Ertorian Cycle' I quote in this chapter is Lord Alfred Tennyson's _The Lady of Shalott_, slightly altered for Faerunian names. Loreena McKennitt's masterful rendition of it was part of the inspiration for this chapter. The other songs were _Tango to Evora_, also from Loreena McKennitt (both from her album _The Visit), I'll See It Through_ from Texas' _Be Careful What You Wish For _, and _The Mouse _from Ilan Eshkeri's soundtrackfor the lovely movie_ Stardust._ **

**And the usual wishful thinking: I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… The Pendwyr girl is entirely my fault, though. J**

**Chapter Thirty-Nine: When the Moon Was Overhead**

The oval dining table was replaced with a smaller, round one, but the crisp white linen, the fine bone Shouware plates and the silver place settings were the same. Gone were the buffet and the armchairs, though; in the corner opposite the fireplace a small dais was set with some simple chairs, I assumed for the musicians, and there was a low sofa strewn with cushions in front of the fire, with a small table laid with a chess-set in front of it. This was the environment in which I had to supposedly relax and learn all matters mannerly.

The first spectacular failure occurred when he tried to teach me how to part the shell of an oyster with the little silver knife provided. I shot the creature all the way across the room, whereas the knife landed in the butter dish. I was very grateful no one except him saw that, and I proceeded to say so. Then I pointed out that perhaps this was too delicate a motion to perform with a hand that…well, with my hands.

"There's nothing wrong with your hands, my lady." he said calmly. "Are you telling me that you are unable to do this when _Nevalle_ can do it?"

"Nevalle probably learned this in his diapers. "I said, a bit defiant, but appreciative of him trying to encourage me. "I mean, look!" I held my hand out palm up, in front of him. "Do you see those? Those are called calluses. From farm work, from swordwork, from housework, name it. They are not for…"

"Absolutely not true." He cut me off, blue eyes twinkling. "There is nothing wrong with your hands, my lady. Here, let me…" I inhaled sharply as he slid an arm around my shoulder. Him so close, the two of our auras pressing against each other, then the sweet rush of _want _as silver-and-crimson and silver-and-blue commingled with pale red and lavender shades shooting across like falling stars…

How could he not feel _that_? How could he remain so… so calm and collected and only slightly bemused with that maddening smile on his lips right next to my ear?

I shivered, again, as his hand took mine that held the short silver knife at an awkward angle.

"Here, we just take this oyster shell, like so…" His other hand held mine and the offending shellfish, while he guided my left with the knife in it. "Now… you just take the knife, and… see?" Under the pressure of his hand on mine holding the knife, the shell parted with a soft cracking sound. "And may I point out that my hands are also rather callused from swordwork?"

"'s unfair." I muttered, barely audible, I thought, over my heartbeat.

"I hardly think it is that difficult, my lady, give yourself some credit for…" he started to say, somewhat testily, then I could feel him tense and start to pull away as if he finally allowed himself to fully realize the position we were in.

"Oh." he breathed as, I knew, he at last was hit by the combined force of our auras and all the emotions thundering across my veins. His hands tightened on mine...

_And this stops right here, and right now, Arrighan_… I heard my firm and aloof celestial self saying sternly.

"Indeed." I squirmed until he let go. "Not that I…" I let out a breath, "…didn't appreciate that, mind you, but…"

"I apologize." He said slowly, looking at the white tablecloth in front of him with slightly compressed lips. "I didn't realize…"

"Don't, silly. "I elbowed him gently in the ribs. "That's was just the thing. I liked it too much." I let my head rest on his shoulder for a second. "Just need to get used to this, is all."

"I am ten years you senior, my lady." He continued stubbornly. "I should have…"

"Yes, and…?" I felt my brows rise. "Just _how _much more experience are we talking about in these matters…?"

I was rewarded by one of his more spectacular blushes.

"I would…not talk about it right now, if you don't mind, my lady." he said after a pause. "Later, perhaps… if you so wish." he added reluctantly.

_Oh. That will be interesting_, my human side supplied, snickering.

"I think I would." I said, holding his gaze. "But I trust you. You tell me when. " I shrugged to ease the tension. "Now, I just need to get better at fancy eating, right? Where _is _that oyster thing?"

It was, indeed, one of the best evenings of my life. Some of the memories stayed with me even through the darkest places where my path took me afterwards, and when I needed, they gave me warmth and strength to keep going.

"There's no way I can eat _that_… No, seriously, Casavir, those things are _alive_."

"Oysters are considered a delicacy in most cultures, my lady. Please…"

"They are alive and… Stop that! It wriggles when you squirt the lemon juice on it, it's truly …"

I was _so_ losing this battle, and I knew that however vigorously I protested, I would have to try that disgusting vile, slimy creature. I'd have to, because he was so perfectly right about me needing not to make this scene right there at the ball. And, besides, it was awfully cute as he was trying to be serious about this whole thing and failing spectacularly. So I really had no choice; as he leaned forward, with the half-shell in his hand, determined concentration on his face, I let him lift it to my lips and dutifully _slurped…_

"The darned thing tried to climb back up my gullet!" I protested after spending ten seconds bulgy-eyed and trying not to throw up. "That was… just about the most awful thing anyone ever tried to make me eat, I want you to know that." I looked up at him over the rim of my wine goblet and grinned. "And I hope you appreciate that I didn't shove that half-shell up your…" I paused and considered what I was about to say for a second "… nose for that."

"I surely do, my lady." He nodded calmly and looked at the table. "However, I should like to point out that there are five more of those for you."

"You are a slaver." I sighed and pulled the silver tray lined with ice closer. "Do they teach that at the chapterhouse?"

"Actually, that was part of my education as would-be heir of a noble house." He pulled the tray back. "Kindly refrain from grabbing at the serving dishes, my lady. It is not done."

"But it was too far!" I protested.

"You can always ask me." he pointed out calmly. "In cases where servers are present, they will do it for you. Just wait until they carry a plate towards you and present it. At a table, you can ask your neighbor."

"A _fun _evening, indeed." I murmured, casting wistful glances towards the other small platters holding all kinds of appetizers I barely recognized. "When can I get to those? That thing in that rectangular dish looks and smells awesome."

"You mean the goose liver _pâté en terrine_." He let out a sigh. "I see we really needed to start this with the basics."

"Hey." I elbowed him in the ribs again, causing him to choke on his oyster. "I _do _know how to eat with a fork and knife, thank you very much. And stop using fancy Cormyran words at me."

"So I shouldn't tell you that they will probably call this _pâté de foie gras _at Tavorick's_, _either?" He placed the platter between us and raised an eyebrow. "Well, you are definitely not an oyster person… we have decided that. It's actually all right; you can always excuse yourself and say you don't care for the taste…"

"Too much like pure sea." I nodded. "So how does one eat _this_?"

"This is minced goose liver and goose fat with some herbs and such, cooked in milk." He carefully slid a slice on my plate. "Now, you should be aware that there is a definite distinction between this and what is called _foie gras entier, _that is, entire goose liver soaked and cooked in milk, with nothing else added except perhaps a bit of goose fat. That one is, according to some authorities in gastronomy, considered to be a much higher grade delicacy then _pâté."_

"Goodness gracious, Casavir, for a man who makes such a vile stew even Khelgar won't eat it, you sure know much about… food." I looked at him with mixed emotions: I was impressed and puzzled at the same time. "I mean, I did my share of cooking back in West Harbor, and I was generally interested in it, too, but… Is there _something _you didn't study…?"

I got another of his blushes. With his fair skin, he was really such an easy target, and with a pang of guilt I realized I probably consciously made that sound _not _quite innocent.

"I didn't know you were… acquainted with the art of cooking, my lady." he said, gracefully skimming over yet another of my blunders.

I carefully tasted the thing on my plate, taking care to hold the fork properly and my elbows by my side.

_Yum_. Yes, this was much, much better than oysters. I finished my wine and watched him thoughtfully as he refilled both our goblets.

"Yes, well, it's true I wasn't doing much cooking by the time you joined our company." I smiled. "The dishes I learned to make are quite unsuitable for campsite cooking. Besides, I was traveling with an elf, a dwarf, a tiefling and a gnome when we met. Do you really think they'd have appreciated West Harbor cuisine?"

"I would not know, my lady." He shook his head, applying himself to his own food. "Perhaps if you told me something about it?"

"Hm." It didn't even occurred to me that he'd be interested. "I must confess, this is…" I chuckled, and he looked up at me sharply. "Pardon me. It just strikes me as… well, funny, that you and I discuss… cooking and dishes and such."

"Does it… bother you?" he asked cautiously, balancing a bite on his fork.

"On the contrary." I shook my head, amused by this situation. "I am glad we found yet another common interest."

"I agree. It is rather… unusual, isn't' it?"

"What, this _pâté _thing?" I asked; I couldn't help it, but I really enjoyed yanking his chain a bit now that we both felt more comfortable with each other. I took another bite and winked at him. "Not really; around this time of the year we had some goose liver at West Harbor too. Granted, we just fried the liver in goose fat…"

"My lady will have her jest." he said calmly as he finished with his plate and pushed it aside, neatly laying his fork and knife parallel on the side.

"No, seriously." I said, catching myself gesticulating with my fork. "I still remember how pretty much every wife in the village was fretting if their goose wasn't fat enough by the middle of Uktar. They all had their feed recipes, jealously guarded from others; Retta, I know, used walnuts and white breadcrumbs, while Georg Redfell's wife used, I think, corn soaked in wine and chestnut meal."

"Why, that's… quite elaborate." Casavir said, surprised.

"You see, we're not just club-brandishing savages out there, Lord Korranos." I grinned to take the edge of those words away; it was really rather endearing just how hard he tried to overcome all those prejudices.

"I've never said you…" Yes, it was still taking him a while to recognize when someone was joking. But eventually he got there. "Oh. I see. That was… sarcasm."

"Of a kind…" I said, patting his hand. "Now; what do we eat next?"

"Back to things from the sea, I am afraid." I saw sparkles in his eyes and saw a twitch of his mouth.

_Oh. The game is on, _I thought with a definite smirk of my own, partially, I knew, due to the glow of the wine I had this far. I recognized the symptoms.

"More sea creatures as a punishment for me being… smart?"

"This is merely for your own… education, my lady. " He managed somehow to execute a perfect courtly bow while sitting down. The man seemingly had no limits.

"All right." I cracked my knuckles with the gesture of a knight warming up her hands before battle, and looked at him with a grim expression to suit. "Let us settle this…what is it this time, steamed sea urchins?"

It was fish eggs. It was bloody salted black fish eggs on toast with butter, fresh sour cream and lemon slices; only he called it 'caviar'. Fine, it wasn't as bad as oysters… but it made me convinced that most of these fancy foods were originally eaten to win a wager or on a dare. I mean, really, _bait on toast_? Nevertheless, since he was watching me with that maddeningly haughty expression on his face that practically screamed '_well, are you going to chicken out on me now, Arrighan_?' I didn't say any of that; just ground my teeth and daintily consumed two of the little toast points that, I must admit, looked rather pretty to the eye with the pale white sour cream, the black fish egg lumps and the fresh yellow of the lemon slices. The taste wasn't that bad either, provided I could suspend the disgust over the fact that I was, really, eating _bait_.

Luckily, that was all the fancy appetizers he wanted me to be familiar with, and we moved to the main course as soon as our server cleaned the table. That was about the time the musicians showed up, too.

"So this is why you said 'a relatively simple dinner'?" I surveyed the silver plate with the roast goose, accompanied by stuffing, a heap of potatoes crispy-fried in goose fat and wine-stewed fruits. "Remind me again, what is considered 'fancy' or, excuse me, 'elaborate' in noble circles?"

"Oh, about six-seven different dishes per course, I would say." he answered absentmindedly, watching the two slender, brown-haired girls with a harp and a viola curtsying towards us and taking their place as unobtrusively as possible in the corner and starting to tune up their instruments. "And three meat courses per meal plus one or two fish courses. Depending on who attends and what the fasting regulations of any guests are, it can get rather elaborate."

"I bet." With the different clergy holding fast days on different days and months depending on their own feasts… "So practically every household needs someone to keep track of those if they are planning a formal event, right?"

"Exactly." he nodded. "Part of a household steward's training is just that; to know, after the guest list had been assembled and given to him by the lady of the house, what their special habits or requirements are regarding food. For exactly that reason, most noble ladies plan their banquets with their steward in attendance."

"So food would be a definite female domain, hm?" I raised an eyebrow. "Still, I don't think I'd be expected to answer questions about meal planning at the ball."

"Probably not." he agreed.

"But it's good to know if I ever have to deal with an impending seated dinner for a hundred, including the Nine." I snickered at the thought.

"You are a squire now, my lady." He looked at me with a serious expression on his face. "I would fully expect that whatever services Lord Nasher asks you to perform for the Crown, whether it would only be defending Lord Tavorick or more that that, would be rewarded with land and further titles. And when that happens…" he paused, watching our server finish the setup and depart with another curtsy, "…this just might be useful."

"Oh, I didn't mean to say I didn't appreciate it." I shook my head. " I am sorry, I'm just… I still feel like I'm way over my head. There's so much to learn…" I leaned back in my chair, toying with the linen napkin in my lap nervously. "And trying simultaneously to relax, to enjoy the time with you, to try to absorb all of the information, and to eat…" My eyes widened as the realization hit me. "You know… I never thought about this, but it must be awfully hard to learn all of this while a child, so by the time you have to do it for real, it is so ingrained in you that it flows naturally."

"It must be… but you see, I've never thought about it that way either." He looked at me curiously. "I just took it the way it is… but you're right, this is not an easy skill to learn, even though I think you have a natural aptitude for it, however much you protest and grumble."

"_Grumble_." I said slowly. "I do not grumble, I'll have you know. I think." I added, after I saw both of his eyebrows draw up considerably.

"Indeed." he said, and sighed. "You know, self-delusion was one of the last things I thought I should be lecturing you about this evening, but if you so wish…"

"Hey." I said defensively. "Just because I need that coffee in the morning, it doesn't mean I am not nice and courteous and impeccable-mannered at any other… Will you stop rolling your eyes like that? And I didn't realize you know words like 'grumble'…"

"I apologize for not giving you a detailed report of my vocabulary." he said while handing me a plate with food on it, with such a perfect imitation of Nevalle's clipped upper-class accent that I couldn't help but burst out laughing and the slight awkwardness between us was gone again.

I loved that roast goose. It was crisp on the outside, moist on the inside, perfectly seasoned, the stuffing was made with chestnuts and cranberries, and the potatoes were swimming in goose grease exactly the way they did when Retta made it. So much so that I had to stop short of finishing the plate because my eyes filled with tears, it made me so homesick.

"Is aught amiss, my lady?" Casavir, of course, sensed my discomfort at once through our connection, before even I realized I was crying silent, fat tears into my food.

"I am fine." I lifted my head and tried to smile. "Just… this tastes like home so much…" I turned away for a second to dry my eyes and sniffed. "Look at me, getting all mushy like a little girl…" Slightly ashamed by my weakness, I cast about to change the subject, looked towards the musicians in the corner and as I realized they actually had bee playing for a while, I found my distraction. "Oh, that's nice…"

"I…" he cleared his throat, "… took the liberty, my lady, to discuss the fact that you enjoyed the Ertorian Cycle so much with Ophala when… arranging for this evening." He sounded slightly embarrassed, and yet again, I had to realize that indeed, he planned this probably just as carefully as his surgical strikes against Logram Eyegouger's troops at Old Owl Well. And that thought made me forget my homesickness almost instantly. "And thus, for this evening's entertainment I believe she selected some songs from one of the famous renditions of the _Idylls of King Ertos _personally." He nodded towards our harpist, whose skilled fingers picked a slow, beautiful melody on the silver strings, while the other girl with the viola counterpointed with the soaring voice of her instrument.

"This is…" I leaned back and closed my eyes for a moment. "…really beautiful." I wasn't sure how you're supposed to do anything else while those two were playing; I just knew I, for one, could do nothing else but being absorbed by their music, and the soaring, crystal clear singing of the harpist as it filled the air.

"On either side of the river lie

Long fields of barley and of rye,

That clothe the world and meet the sky;

And thro' the field the road run by

To many-towered Ameloth."

"That's the _Lady of Shileot."_ I whispered, recognizing the opening lines. It was a long poem, and I've never heard it set to music; the only version I've known was in Amie's much-read and incomplete collection of the Ertorian Cycle. It probably wasn't much ladylike, but I didn't care: I rested my chin in my palm, eyes still closed, drinking in the song just like I drank the lines of the poem while I was sixteen.

"And sometimes thro' the mirror blue

The Knights come riding two and two.

She hath no loyal Knight and true,

The Lady Of Shileot."

It was such a sad story, really, when one thought about it, not very suitable for a paladin apprentice's education, but I remembered Aevan just snorting when I told him excitedly about the copy we bought at the Harvest Fair, Amie and I, with our pooled savings instead of ribbons or a new pair of boots or some such. "_Yes, the Ertorian Cycle, sure…" _I could almost hear his slightly raspy voice, almost dripping with amusement. "_As long as you don't plan on lying down in a frilly painted boat and die singing while slowly coasting down to Neverwinter pining after some silly boy-knight, apprentice, I don't care._ _You might even pick up some decent vocabulary and manners from it while I am not here." _A snort, slightly exasperated_. "And the gods know you could use some."_

"His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;

On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;

From underneath his helmet flow'd

His coal-black curls as on he rode,

As he rode back to Ameloth."

I felt my lips twitch to a smile at that. Yes, indeed, there was no denying it, when I saw Casavir on his huge warhorse Elbriel in the morning we got ready to set out towards the canyon in which Logram Eyegouger's lair was hidden--well, I remember that I couldn't help but whisper those lines, the description of Sir Eloth. At that time of his life, he even had his hair long, not to mention the beard. He maintained that there was not much practicality in the notion of attempting to keep a short haircut and close shave in the wild, but I became convinced later that he had left it that way so it'd be more difficult for others to recognize him. Still, as we got back to Callum's fortified base at Old Owl Well, he agreed to make himself 'look more like a proper warrior of Tyr and less like a savage from the woods' as Callum put it.

I was rather sure he'd have been utterly mortified had he known what I was thinking, but I hoped not much of that showed on my face.

"And at the closing of the day

She loosed the chain and down she lay;

The broad stream bore her far away,

The Lady of Shileot."

Well, there it was… the thing I was definitely _not _supposed to do, according to Aevan. Really, while I absolutely adored the poem as a whole and the Ertorian stories in general, I always thought, even back then, that that particular curse and the way it played out was just plain stupid. I mean, what kind of sick mind lays a curse on a woman to sit in a room weaving all day and not looking at the outside world at all (_how would she accomplish that, anyway, _my logical self wondered even when I was sixteen), and when she finally sneaks a peak at a handsome knight, she not only falls in love with him, but that love kills her _while she sings_? "_What is she, a friggin' swan_?" I remembered Bevil muttering when Amie first read it aloud. _"Some mages this unknown poet might have known._"… We entertained the idea of asking Tarmas about that, but somehow always ended up postponing that conversation.

But Sir Eloth mused a little space

He said, "She has a lovely face;

Tyr in his mercy lend her grace,

The Lady of Shileot."

"My lady?" I felt Casavir's warm hand on my shoulder, raising me from my memories as the song ended. "Is everything all right?"

"Perfect." I realized that I still kept my eyes closed. "I was just… I didn't know it was set to music." I watched the two girls gracefully gather their equipment and slide out of the room; I had no idea what to do, how to thank them, so I settled on smiling at them in turn, and realized I was sorry to see them go. "It was… very nice." There, my vocabulary has failed me again and rather spectacularly so. _Nice. Great, Rig, next time you'll tell him you're 'quite fond of him', eh?_ I heard my human side snicker.

"Then I am glad I got you this." he said quietly. I opened my eyes and spotted a small package wrapped in light blue silk laid out in front of me; he must have put it there while I was immersed in the music.

"For me?" I couldn't catch myself in time from pointing at my chest like a little kid. I was _so_ behaving like a smitten village girl. I couldn't control the smile spreading on my face, and the speed with which I grabbed at the package. "Really?"

"M-hmm." Now it was his turn to rest his chin in his palm as he watched me wrestle with the wrapping. "I do hope you will like it."

It was a small, leather-bound and exquisitely illuminated copy of the Ertorian Cycle. I should have known—I recalled that thoughtful look of his when I mentioned that I only had a badly corrupted and borrowed version to contend myself with back in West Harbor.

"It turns out that…" he said, carefully not looking at me and clearing his throat again, "…a substantial amount of my family library was preserved by Lord Nasher amongst his own; the ones that were not donated to the Halls of Justice, that is. This was one of the full copies we had."

"One of them." I said slowly. Like with the Path of the Silver Fire manuscript he already gave me, this one also was richly illuminated, the parchment almost pure white, the covers and the edges of the pages gilded… If they had multiple copies of the same text… I knew I wasn't supposed to be gawking quite like that, but that simple fact alone showed just how big a gap existed between us. "This is…"

I bit back what I wanted to say, because of course, the first thing that reflexively came to my lips was 'no, I can't accept this, this is too much'. I reminded myself, yet again: 'truth'. _However much it seems like you are breaching etiquette or hurt feelings with it, Arrighan, truth you vowed, and truth he shall have_.

"The forces of good like to give…but very rarely learn to receive." I quoted what Elanee told me once. "I guess I better start learning, hm?" I took both of his hands in mine and looked into his eyes. "This is beautiful, Casavir, and I thank you." I tried to put into words how I felt. As starting to squeal and clap gleefully like an idiot was really not my style and I somehow suspected this was _still _not the right time to start kissing him until he was out of breath (even though I was seriously tempted by this mad impulse I had to _very _firmly squelch), I ended up settling for squeezing his hands hard and keeping his fingers entwined with mine. "I probably don't deserve it, but… I promise I will treasure it, and read it very carefully."

"I should hope so." he said, a slow smile kindling his face, and I found myself a bit short of breath again. "There are several enchantments described in there that I do not care to be tried on me, at all."

"Unfair." I whispered. _Maybe that mad impulse wasn't that mad after all_, it run through my mind. "Now I will have to look all of them up one by one and study them very, very carefully." His eyes, this close, were like deep pools of azure: I felt my heart skip a beat.

"Just let me know if you need help with the… interpretation." He lifted my hand to his lips. "Not that I doubt your considerable talents and abilities, my lady, but…"

I've never noticed this before, but his eyelashes had little curls to them towards the end; _he must have had his face pinched by old ladies very, very often when he was a little boy_, I thought vaguely; I felt little sparks along my spine as his lips brushed the skin of my palm.

"Isn't this the time to start calling me by my name?" Honesty, again. Even though my voice was barely audible, and considerably shaky. "Or is this also part of the 'taking it slow' process?"

"I…" He shook his head; the smile turned a bit sad as he released my hand. "I think so." he said, slowly; I could see that the thought occurred to him as well. I withdrew a bit, thankful for the respite; my heart was racing like after an hour of hard sparring practice.

"Because…" I offered, keenly aware that I was practically handing him an easy out, and also knowing that I was, by all intents and purposes, babbling, "…you see, if you're calling me 'my lady' just so that it's easier to keep a distance, that's fine, I can understand that. And I am not offended at all, just…"

"'Tis not that simple." He almost never cut me off; it was usually the other way around. I looked at him, surprised. "Would that it was." His eyes sought mine again: there were a half dozen different shades of blue swirling in them: azure, cerulean, stormy sky, pale almost-grey, heliotrope, dark royal purple… "It is… more to do with my way of thinking. The way I was raised. It is…"he paused, looking for words, "…my way of showing that I care. That I… care for you."

He stood up abruptly; I could see from the set of his shoulders that he made a decision. The light and heartbreakingly fragile beauty of the minute before was gone again. "I…was planning on showing you something that very few know about who come to the Mask. Before dessert and coffee, that is. "he added, proving yet again, that sometimes he knew me better than myself. "Would you come with me…?"

"Sure…What is it?" I asked lightly, aware that yet again, somehow, I was treading waters he didn't want me to.

"Surprise?" His smile was definitely sad now, almost like a little boy's, asking not to take his toy away--I saw that on Bevil's little brothers' face countless times. It made my heart melt.

"You sure know how to curl a girl's toes, Casavir Korranos." I mumbled under my breath as I grabbed my cloak. Whatever I said surely had a bad effect on him. His shoulders, his stance, the way he had lines on his forehead and in the corner of his mouth…" I, on the other hand, just can't keep my godsdamn big mouth shut, can I?" I continued mumbling, grateful for the folds of my cloak hiding my own rising anger at my own self. Because, let's face it, I could hardly be angry at him for trying to _respect _me? As long as he didn't try to enclose any piece of my clothing into veneration boxes again…

Which sharply reminded me: I needed to talk to him about that, too. About me knowing it; and about other things I did that he might… not approve of. Hiding in a corner under the influence of an Invisibility potion (and a really good Cormyran red) and observing him in a drinking contest with my other companions was _definitely_ stretching the paladin code a bit.

And, once I realized that this must be done, it was easier to get determined about to get it done tonight—whatever this mysterious thing he wanted to show me was.

It was a rooftop garden he led me to, through a little corridor, up a couple of stairs, opening a small, unremarkable wooden door. He took care to make sure that I could see where I stepped, despite the fact that he knew I could see in the dark better than an elf, holding the door open for me so the two torches outside could cast their light on the landing. That was so typically him that I even forgot to get annoyed about it any more.

"Ophala has… given us the use of this for now." he said, a bit tensely, as he turned back to me. He hasn't spoken since we left the dining room. "It's her private garden, and out of the entire establishment this is the most heavily guarded by spells and wards."

"I see." I nodded, trying to slide back into my 'squire of Neverwinter, paladin of Tyr and leader of an adventuring free company' skins. I thought I figured it out; now I'd hear another piece of background information about out secret mission guarding Tavorick.

_Well, it was really nice while it lasted_… "I take it the mistress of the house should join us soon then?"

"Ophala?" His eyes unfocused for a second, confused. "Why would she…"

"Well, aren't we going to talk about operational details since this place is so heavily warded?" I hoped I didn't sound too harsh; I stepped out and looked around. "Isn't that why we're here?"

Based on the term 'rooftop garden' he used I was expecting flowerbeds and topiary bushes. I've never seen one, but how different it could be from a smaller version of other gardens I've seen around the city?

Except that I forgot two things. This was a private garden, and its owner was not just anyone but Ophala Cheldarstorn, Mage of the Many-Starred Cloaks; disguised as owner of the largest festhall and private dining establishment of Neverwinter.

"No." Casavir raked his hair with one hand; the gesture I knew he only ever used when talking to me. "That was not… the intention. I am sorry, my lady… I…"

"Oh." I felt the blood rushing to my face. "No, I am sorry… I… thought we had some… Dammit, Korranos, you really ought to work on just say things plainly!" _Great_. Here I go, yelling, yet again. Perfect self control, paladin, really.

Then again, that was exactly how I felt.

_Truth_, again.

"I remembered you saying that you loved to look at the stars." The words came out of him at a rush; he was looking at the middle of the garden to the small meditation platform amongst some carefully and lovingly cultivated plants and raked sand-and-gravel paths, with its pile of blankets and pillows and low table. "And how you didn't have much opportunity with your duties at West Harbor and here in the City. So I asked Ophala if we could borrow her serenity garden for this evening and… prayed for some fair weather." He shrugged. "And yes, I could have said it plainer and sooner." He looked up, straight to my eyes, and yet again, I felt my knees go weak from the intensity of his gaze. "But would you believe me, my lady, if I say that, at the end, you make me tongue-tied and shy like I've not felt since I first heard the voice of the god in my dreams?"

I swallowed; it was cold in the garden, but that alone didn't make me shiver.

_He wanted to show me the stars._

"I am an idiot, really." I said; that startled him. "I really am… I keep telling you, and you keep insisting I am something more." I stepped up to him and took his hand. "Most of the time _you _make me feel woefully inadequate and I've put my foot in my mouth more times than I can care to count talking to you, even though I really would rather cut my own arm off then hurt you. So don't you dare apologizing, you hear? It is I who need to do that." I took a deep breath and tilted my head sideways. "Will you put up with me for a bit more, please?"

"A bit more…" A small laugh escaped his lips as he shook his head. "I would, as you so quaintly but succinctly expressed it, my lady, 'put up' with you for considerably longer than that." There was that slow, hesitant and beautiful smile again. "It is getting rather cold just standing here, and there are plenty of blankets left for us. I would propose a contest of naming the most stars, if you are willing, my lady."

That indeed sounded like it was just straight out of a romance. I grinned and rolled my eyes.

"Sweeping the poor village girl off her feet, milord?" I linked an arm in his. "You know, I certainly don't mind a contest, especially because I know I'll win." I was Daeghun Farlong's ward, after all--I knew pretty much everything there was to see on the sky by the time I started studying with Aevan.

"Now we shall just see about that, shan't we?" he said calmly. "Take as many blankets as you want, my lady; I am used to the cold."

"Is this part of the contest? Who's toughest?" I made myself a nest amongst the pillows and blankets on the wooden platform. I had done this with Amie and Bevil a couple of times out on the Starling field, so I wasn't shy about pulling up three of the thickest soft wool throws and wrap them around me on top of my cloak; I also appropriated the largest pillows. If he wanted to play the perfect knight, fine. I knew my gown was thicker silk then most, but this was the beginning of winter, and the sky was as clear as Casavir's eyes. It was going to be _cold_. "I know we paladins can't catch diseases, but don't be overchivalrous on my behalf."

I let out a content sigh as the softspun wool and silk enveloped me like a cocoon.

_I missed this_, I realized. I looked up at him, still standing there, looking around like he was lost and I felt laughter bubbling up in me like a small brook when ice breaks at springtime at last.

"Casavir." I said, and he looked at me with a slightly panic-stricken expression. "I got…" I counted…"let me see, one, two, three layers of blankets on me. Over my cloak. I think there's nothing in the regulations of either paladins or courtiers that would forbid you to sit next to me. There's no way you can breach etiquette through this much wool, okay?" I patted the pillow next to me. "C'mere."

"As my lady wishes." I swear he said that, and with a completely perfect courtly bow, too.

And then he sat down, about a foot from me, wrapping a blanket around himself and for all the world looking like that was what I actually told him to do.

"Fine; be that way." I murmured under my breath. "You know, I _really _don't bite."

"Pardon?" There was that aristocratic eyebrow going up again, and that really tore it.

"Hells…" I said, a bit exasperated. "Let me spell this out to you, then. You invite me to look at the stars in the moonlight in a private garden where it's guaranteed no one can see or hear us because of the spells the owner put on the whole place, carefully arrange for a setting that looks like it is tailor-made for coziness, there is no way in the hells you and I will get this much privacy in the coming oh, I don't know, weeks probably, knowing my luck, our duties, your uncle and our companions… and then you chicken out on me? You make me eat oysters and fish eggs and I'm not allowed to bail out of that, but you decide in the critical last minute that it's all right to be all polite and proper yet again. So what should a girl think?" I wriggled out an arm from the blankets and poked him in the ribs. "You planned this entire evening like a perfect field commander, I'll have you know. I am _almost _overwhelmed and mesmerized and all of those things girls supposed to do at times like this." I paused. "I suspect, of course, this also has a lot to do with the fact that I had a nice amount of wine to get the lingering taste of bait out of my mouth, but that's no reason for… Are you laughing at me?"

"I am actually laughing at myself, my lady." That was so unexpected I just gaped at him. But his laughter was not joyous or relieved. "As always, your perceptiveness and wit…" With a sigh, he stretched out next to me, hands behind his head, blue eyes staring up at the stars. "You will have to forgive me. I, of course, trust you."

"Then?" I copied his posture unselfconsciously, keeping the blankets tucked in around me. "What is it?" There were no torches here, and even those at the entrance door were burning low. I could see the stars just fine; they felt so close I could almost touch them.

"Do you trust _me_?" His voice was barely above whisper in the dark.

"Now, what kind of question…" I started, then stopped. I truly sounded as if what he said was a personal insult against me. As if we haven't gone down this path before.

As if we still had something to hide from each other.

"All right, a very good question." I turned on my side, lifted myself on my elbow. He was a silhouette in front of some evergreen bushes, his profile lit by the moonlight. "And I might as well answer it by telling you two things." I swallowed. "Before you really can trust me, I need you to see if you can… forgive me first."

Well, here it was. As good an opening as anything.

"Forgive?" Now he sounded truly surprised. "You couldn't possibly have done anything that I should…"

"Just you wait." I said darkly. 'Don't say that until you hear me out. Please." I would have liked to believe that my voice was not shaky. "Ironic, isn't it? Last time we were here, it was you who told me things I needed to hear. Now I have two things to tell you, like I said." I took a deep breath. "I… spied on you. Twice. Unintentionally at first, but the second time…"

I kept talking, eyes trained steadily on his profile, unmoving like a statue of ancient times. I told him about how I spotted those frames leaning against his little altar set up in the inn at Port Llast when I took up Sand's stuff to their room, and how I couldn't resist looking at them. I told him about the nausea rising in the pit of my stomach as I beheld the contents of the last, largest one: a piece of my clothing, framed and preserved like a relic of a living saint, amongst the portraits of his family. I told him about how that nausea wouldn't go away for days afterwards, about the real reason I kept to myself the way back to Neverwinter… the reason why I went to the Halls of Justice that day the god broke and remade me--to confront them, about this cult of me I thought they were encouraging, to tell them to stop meddling with me, with Casavir, with the future I thought they tried to influence, not quite understanding that it wasn't them… I told him about the truth, coming to me in a blinding white flash of agony as my spine broke under the god's heavy hand, that it was Tyr himself who saw it fit having me as one of the pieces of the great game against the forces of Darkness; and how I felt when I learned that morning that they summoned him to the Temple after I was sent to rest and heal, realizing that they probably punished him for being overzealous in his devotion to me; how it felt seeing him in the chapel afterwards, with all the confused feelings in me, compounded by the weight of my impending trial crystallizing in that sweet and unbearable constriction of my heart when I saw him smiling at me . And I told him about how, that very same evening, after that horrible, horrible graveyard fight and me exploding on everyone in the coach on the way back to the Flagon, Neeshka and the others kept me company, and how, out of friendship, morbid curiosity and with judgment clouded by wine and bravery fueled by alcohol, I went along with the tiefling's plan to spy on the other half of my company invisible.

"And that was really, really low of me and should have told you ages ago." I said when I finally run out of breath. "And I thought that tonight, of all times, I should finally come clean and let you know before… I don't know, before it eats my heart from the inside out and I turn black and evil like those tentacles around the Luskan ambassador's heart. I well know, truly, how intensely… private person you are. To breach that privacy not once, but twice, and in such manner, even though I thought it might have been justified, or, in the first case, accidentally and out of mere girlish curiosity…well, bluntly put, it was inexcusable. But most of all, because I just cannot bear the thought of hurting you more than I probably already did…You pledged yourself to me twice over, and bled for me, and I know in my heart of hearts that you… that you will bleed even more in the future, in the storm that is coming. And you don't need to bleed from wounds I give you, knowing or not. Complete honesty I vowed, and truth, and you shall have it."

I stopped; he still didn't say a single word, nor looked at me. With my darkvision, I could see clearly that not a muscle twitched on his face; he was just laying there, arms still under his head, watching the stars and the moon in perfect stillness. I didn't feel like I should attempt to even touch his aura right now, let alone try to read anything from it; frankly, I didn't want to intrude on whatever emotions were coursing through him while I waited.

"And I am sorry for hurting you with my silence." I added lamely. I felt miserable and drained, hoping that something of this evening could be salvaged. I knew he trusted me, he said so… but just how badly I hurt that by not trusting, in turn, that he would have understood?

"Of course you should have told me sooner." he finally said, still unmoving. My heart was resting there in my chest like a slowly dying ember from a banked fire. I took a long breath to answer, but he spoke again. "And then I could have told you that, of course, I knew that you were there in that room that evening."

I think I felt all of the blood draining from my cheeks hearing that.

"You… you knew I… that we were there? How?" I sputtered.

"I lived on the edge of constant danger out in the wild for almost ten years, my lady." He still didn't move, and his voice was soft and deep and cool, like the waves of the Sea of Swords in the springtime. "I can feel when I am being watched, even when I had… too much to drink. Invisibility potions don't grant you the ability to breathe without noise either. "I felt myself blush. "Therefore, back in that room, since I didn't know who it was, my first instinct was to see if I could sense anything evil there. I could not." Of course he couldn't, it was El and Neeshka with me… "Then, without pausing to think, I tried for the other side of the spectrum…For sensing good. Not sure why I didn't just raise the alarm… I think I really had my senses clouded by all the drinks I had up till that point. But I went for it, still in quiet, and there you were; I couldn't miss it, couldn't mistake it for anyone else. You shine, my lady, like no one else I've known before. As bright as any of those stars up there in the sky."

He paused, as he gathered his thoughts; I dared not to move.

"As for the… reliquary… that's a different matter. I realize now the full error of what I've done and truth to tell, I am glad it came to light, so that it cannot be hanged over your head, should the Waterdeep Inquisitor decide on a full-scale investigation." I shuddered hearing that: it didn't even occur to me. "I am, indeed, an intensely private person… so much so that sometimes I'm hiding even from myself. In case you haven't noticed that yet." His voice changed a bit; it acquired little sparkles of emotions, lending a peculiar roughness to his otherwise smooth tones. "Bluntly put-- and I owe you nothing but frank speech, just as you did-- bluntly put, then, I have raised you on the pedestal of a living saint so that I didn't have to deal with my own growing feelings for you that were entirely unsuitable for anything even remotely saintly. You see, when you called me out right before your trial by combat in that tent, accusing me of venerating you as some higher being, distant and untouchable… you stroke true even more than you might have suspected, or perhaps wished. I was afraid of my own feelings, I wanted to do nothing with them, as if they were…unsuitable or somehow…unclean."

"You even offered to leave my service because of them, as I recall." I risked an interruption, somehow sensing it was time for me to say something.

"My lady, when I told you at the chapel that morning that it was difficult to follow you because there was much to admire about you, I did _not _speak figuratively!" His voice was definitely rough now, as if he was impatient about my slow understanding. That temper of his that normally only manifested in intense combat flared up: I could see the fire in his eyes now. "How can you say that it can be forgiven, to have such thoughts about someone who is an unsuspecting, pure and innocent as you?"

"Casavir." I did not know for a second whether I should laugh or cry. "You are telling me you were checking me out while walking behind me all those times?" I could see the answer in his eyes even before his reluctant, stiff nod. I asked a direct question--he had to answer. "So what you are saying is that you tried to protect me from yourself, thinking I was so pure and innocent that I couldn't possibly pick up on the fact that you definitely… um, admired me for more than my wit or my devotion to our god? We are taking this slow because you can't trust yourself in my company, aren't we? " Another nod. "And you thought that based on what I told you about where I grew up and how I spent most of my adult life amongst militiamen and scouts, raised by a single man and a widow, trained by a male paladin, and spending time as a Watch lieutenant walking the beat in the Docks, that I was so sheltered that I knew absolutely _nothing _about what happens between a man and a woman in the dark?"

So help me Tyr he was blushing so hard he almost glowed in the dark.

"Yeah, we both have serious trust issues indeed." I said, looking at him, hard. I had to allow my celestial self to take charge, otherwise I knew I'd dissolve into a fit of giggles as I understood what he was trying to say. "Me trying furiously to deny to everyone in our company who had eyes that every time I looked at you, I lost the capacity of breathing normally and wanted to know everything about you almost obsessively from the first time we've met, and you thinking I was so aloof an unavailable in my untouchable celestial heritage that the mere thought of looking at my rear while walking caused you to hyperventillate? Did I get the picture right?"

"You forgot the inferiority complexes." he pointed out, trying to sound objective. "You, probably, because, as you like to put it, you were just a 'washed-up West Harbor hick' and me from the high society… myself in awe of your obvious celestial heritage and the fact that you are, undeniably, destined for something far greater than simply become a frontline smasher who is killed before she celebrates her thirtieth birthday."

"Smasher." I tasted the word tentatively. "And those would be…?"

"Oh. Chapterhouse nickname for those sent to individual holy missions to the badlands, mostly dealing with undead, accursed ruins, and the like. Also called 'forgetmenots'. Flowers of the order, opening and blooming early, cut off before they could really reach their true potential, their memory preserved on the walls of the chapels on commemorative plaques."

"I see." I took a deep breath; I sensed that he was trying to change subject here. Really, this was _so _much like when we sparred. "Out of curiosity, you understand: was that view really that admirable?"

"What?" His face was pure confusion for a moment, then embarrassment; now that I dared to look, his aura was streaked with slowly fading grey, some orange and streaks of lavender and crimson, all shot through sparks of silver. "My lady, really, this is…"

"Well, at least we are honest with each other, right?" I said calmly; my celestial side shook its ethereal head at the emotional wreckage that my human side was at the moment due to this conversation and the bond we shared. "And, truth to tell, it is sometimes good to hear that… one's physique is appreciated, even though one's supposed to be aloof and unavailable like a good paladin."

"Arrighan Pendwyr, my lady, I'll have you know… you are just about the least aloof and unavailable paladin I've ever had the grace to know." he whispered suddenly, and, before I knew, his arms encircled me, drawing me to his side just as inescapably and inevitably as the winter whirlwinds descend to the Mere of Dead Men at this time of the year. Even through the layers of thick wool I could feel the warmth of his body alongside mine. "And yes, so help me the Even-Handed, we _are _taking this slow. "

And that was all he said before he kissed me so thoroughly even my celestial side gave up its aloofness for a while. I laced my hands in his hair at the back of his head and stopped thinking for a good while.

"I do… take that as an answer, then." I breathed when we finally parted. I wasn't sure how, but I could feel the pressure of every single finger of his on my back, even though those blankets were still where they were supposed to be.

"To which question?" He also had difficulty talking; his other hand was tracing complicated patterns around my eyebrows, on my cheeks, following the line of my jaw, up to my hairline, then down my neck; I tilted my head upwards, my back arching…

"I'll be… generous and take it as an all-encompassing one." I shivered; his lips were tracing the exact same path his hand took before, with exhilarating slowness.

"Not cold, are you, my lady?" he inquired; the vibration of his breath on the skin right next to my ear was almost too much to bear.

"We are… building trust here… right?" I managed, wondering, really, whether I should just stop thinking altogether.

"Yes, we are." He pulled away, pushing himself half-upright against the headrest of the meditation platform, one arm sliding around my waist. "And most splendidly so; would you look at the stars with me, then, for a while before we return inside for coffee and dessert?"

"The Hells with coffee and dessert." I murmured, settling against him with my back, feeling both of his arms around me. "I have no idea when I can build trust with you again next time. I'd gladly freeze solid this way, even."

I heard his chuckle against my hair as he drew me closer; I could feel, with crystal clarity, how he had those iron bars of self-control halfway back in place, again.

"Now we can't have that, can we?"

"You were telling me something about a contest concerning naming stars?" I murmured lazily. I haven't felt this content in a long time. "I just want to warn you: I was raised by an elven ranger. I would consider that an unfair advantage."

"Unfair? That you are not, my lady." He gently drew the blankets up around my neck. "Not a single part of your body, I might add."

"Now that's honesty." I felt my entire body relaxing into his embrace. "This just might work, after all." I sighed, as a thought occurred to me, and couldn't help but grin widely.

_Yes, this was so much like sparring, indeed_. "And now…if you would tell me about that story you mentioned earlier? About the servants of Helm, the land of Maztica, and some issues of theological differences between factions of the clergy of The Vigilant One?"


	40. The Nearness Of You

-1**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections. It really helps me to get better, so please feel free to leave a review. Thanks for all of those who have already done so—you guys are great!**

**For this chapter the following songs were played, lending inspiration: _The Nearness Of You _from Norah Jones' _Come Away With Me_; _Flying Vessel _from Ilan Eshkeri's _Stardust _soundtrack; and two pieces from Greg Edmonson's music to the ever-so-awesome _Firefly _series: _Leaving/Caper/Spaceball _and _Inside the Tam House_.**

**And the usual wishful thinking: I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… The Pendwyr girl is entirely my fault, though. J**

**Chapter Forty: The Nearness Of You**

The Maztica situation was, indeed, a tricky one. We ended up abandoning stargazing, or rather, looking at the stars as I asked more and more clarifying questions about the events transpiring after the Amnian general Cordell's initial discovery. The concept that an order of clergy could take charge of such an operation and then fail so spectacularly when their overzealousness came to light fascinated me. It also reminded me of the few stories Neeshka told me about her childhood at Helm's Hold and her stern and unforgiving, efficient but unloving caretakers. "Kind to Children" was one of Helm's epitomes, but apparently for his followers kindness didn't include love or understanding, in the majority of the cases.

From there, there was no stopping. Since the Maztica situation came up originally in connection with the Inquisition being interested in me, it was natural that the conversation turned to Waterdeep, the Lord's Alliance and Piergeiron. From his upbringing as a noble's heir and from his training as a paladin, Casavir had a lot of opportunity to learn about the leader of the Alliance, and we talked at length about the possible ramifications of sending a large contingent of observers for my trial, especially given the fact that Ambassador Issani Aldaviel, whom we managed to rescue from his captivity amongst the Eyegouger clan, had already resided in Neverwinter and sent regular missives back to Waterdeep.

All of this might sound like a horribly boring and rather odd way to finish up a date, but…well, truth to tell, I was eager to talk to him just about anything, and, most of all, just to listen to his voice. I always wanted to know more about things that were not connected to raising pigs or harvesting reed or rye. While on the road to Neverwinter, I learned a lot from Khelgar about survival, fighting and dwarven drinking songs, from Neeshka about prejudices, deceiving appearances, her race and my own, hand signs and secret hideouts, from Elanee about the woods, the Mere, elves, herbs and how to be graceful without thinking about it, and from Grobnar…well, while things learned from Nar certainly broadened my horizon, I wasn't sure I wanted my horizon to go _there_, self-exploding codpieces and all.

But about the wide world that actually effected us; about things worth fighting for; about the undercurrents of a greater game stirring the life of everyone; about how to be an example and a possible catalyst to change that current… those things I've missed since I've lost Aevan, and those things I was desperately thankful to be able to discuss with Casavir earlier and even more now.

A paladin is not simply a smiter of evil, or a relentless do-gooder lifting the poor and looking askance at anyone who deviates from the path of absolute straightness and perfection. _A paladin, first and foremost, is an __**example**__ of how things can be done, regardless of how others perceive him or her; driven by his or her god's fire, a paladin should always strive for modeling the way, not trying to push others to it against their will_. I heard Aevan's words echoing in my mind as Casavir and I discussed whether it was a good decision in Waterdeep to have their Open Lord as a paladin of Tyr. _A perfect balance of things, harmony and understanding, perfect justice—all these things Tyr would desire, but in this imperfect Material Plane it cannot be achieved. Men should always strive for it, though—hope is eternal. And a paladin should strive __**not**__ for perfection, but for showing how we __**all**__ can stay on the road._

"So… having both Nasher and Piergeiron as followers and devotees of the Even-Handed… does that create an imbalance of power on the Sword Coast, you think?" I asked, then continued with the logical extension of that thought. "And how does the fact that… you are, for all intents and purposes, the sole male living blood relative of Lord Nasher, figure into this?"

I acquired an additional layer of blankets since we started talking; the moon was fully up and the sky was crystal clear; it definitely was getting colder and colder.

"My status is… not exactly common knowledge." Due to Ophala's wards around the garden, we could talk as freely as probably nowhere else except the Temple or Nasher's private quarters. "Certainly some members of the nobility know about it and no doubt there will be some…talk at Tavorick's ball, but…"

"Will that be a problem?" I asked quietly, remembering that his stepmother, Temnara was Tavorick's daughter. "With you and Lord Tavorick, I mean? I didn't even think about it, but…"

"I wouldn't think so." he said thoughtfully. "As far as I can tell, he never blamed me for what happened. Nasher ordered him to accept protection in his home during the ball season, and thus he shall, however much he might think it unnecessary. He is, if I remember right, well over eighty years old, and in the past years lost a lot of the fire that he was famous for in his younger years." He took a deep breath and I felt his arms tighten around me. "As for your original question, my lady; I was never officially declared heir to anyone but my own House, and after it ceased to exist, I naturally didn't have a chance to dwell on… other possibilities." I understood the unsaid: he was talking about the fact that some of those in the know might consider him Nasher's heir. "The official succession of Neverwinter's throne is…complicated, and requires the complete consent of the Council. There were examples in the past of inheriting the throne through blood, although not necessarily."

"Shandra was telling me Duncan was wondering if you'd be moving back to your palace in Blacklake…" My voice sounded shaky all of a sudden; the implications of what he just said sunk in and my stomach clenched thinking about, yet again, that impossible gap of birth and upbringing between us that somehow got bridged by the god's grace.

"It is not my palace." he interjected, with the typical precision of a Tyrran. "The procedure to have the estates of my House revert back to me has been started, it's true. The High Justiciar has informed me that the request had been lodged with the Halls of Justice, and that the Council will hear the proposal when they meet first after the Winter ball season is over, in the new year." He rested his chin on the top of my head as I nestled into the circle of his arms. "But that is a long time from now, and many things can happen. It does me no good to dwell on them or plan on anything but our next assignment given." That, too, sounded relentlessly logical and practical. "Right now, for instance…" he continued and I could hear the smile in his voice, something rare and precious, "… I am more worried about making sure we practice waltzing often enough to look at least halfway competent."

"At least you don't worry about the other dances. That's sweet." I sighed, then I inhaled sharply as pain shot through my right shoulder up to my neck. "Ow!"

"What's wrong?" Casavir asked; he felt my tension immediately.

"Oh, nothing." I rubbed on my neck and shoulder absentmindedly. "Just tension… and possible an old injury still bothering me; might be the cold." Yes, I could feel the muscles bunching up and locking. Great. "I don't suppose you know any of those excruciatingly painful and yet effective pressure point techniques my teacher used when I locked up after a day of intense practice?" I asked tentatively. "He said they were not exactly widespread knowledge amongst paladins, but…aw!" Another spasm; yes, just as I suspected. "Sorry; I hate to end sitting here with you, but…"

"…but it is clearly uncomfortable." I felt his hand come to rest gently on my shoulder. "If you allow me, I shall see what I can do about it."

"At this point, I'd even let Khelgar try some dwarven battle massage." I murmured. "Yes, please."

"And I shall not ask about how you know about _that_." he said dryly. I leaned forward, but he stopped me with one hand grabbing my shoulder more forcefully, the other digging into the space just behind my scapula under the layers of blankets. "Just stay where you are, my lady…this will be a bit uncomfortable, I am afraid, at first."

"Oh, I know that." I felt my eyes water a bit as he found the first knots. This was not exactly my idea of finishing a romantic evening, but there was no denying it--I was stiff and in pain. And if he indeed could help--well, I certainly could have used that. "It's odd; I haven't had it this bad for a long time, and…"

"What was the last time you truly just… relaxed?" he inquired. I bit my lip; right at this moment, I did not feel anything even remotely gentle towards him. Right now I felt exactly the same urge I had whenever Aevan worked on me after practice: the urge of grabbing his arm and breaking every single finger on it causing this excruciating pain, however much I needed it.

"I…what?" I breathed, with eyes watering over. "What do you mean, _relaxed_? I am relaxed now…"

"I strongly doubt that." His voice was slightly chiding. A thumb dug into the base of my neck, drawing slowly towards my right shoulder, finding the head of the larger muscle there. "Let me ask it differently, then. What was the last time you were doing nothing, thinking nothing, letting yourself just…be, and not worrying about one thing or another? And do not count your prayer time." While talking, his hands were hard at work; yep, it has been a long time since I had anyone work on my tense muscles, all right.

"Counting?" I wheezed, all my manners forgotten. "Shit, Casavir, right now all I can do is concentrating on not… killing you."

"Good." he said calmly; another muscle group was in his vise-like grip, and I had to realize, yet again, that he was, really, very strong. "That means it's working. This, by the way, _will _hurt, I am afraid." I was just about to say '_wait, do you mean until now you were just playing_?' when he found one of those pressure points Aevan tried to explain to me, and my entire body arched and shuddered from the force of pain.

I was proud of myself; when I could think again, that is. I didn't scream or swear, not a single word.

"Now I know why I never asked you to do this earlier." I gasped, once my capacity of speech returned. "I probably suspected this was a common knowledge amongst Tyrran paladins, just…wanted _not_ to experience it ever, ever again."

"Painful, yes. Effective, though." He patted my shoulder. "Better?"

"Why, yes, _of course _it's better." I said between my teeth. "I knew that, as soon as you started on it. I remembered as much." I took a breath. "And you know what the worst part of it is?" I steeled myself for the inevitable. "That I have to ask you to do it to my other shoulder too."

"As you wish." There was that grip again. "Don't fight it, please." he said, slightly exasperated. "It only makes it more painful."

"Oh, _really_?" I retorted, but I knew there was no fire in me; I was too busy trying not to scream. This side was worse; it was my sword arm shoulder. "Holy f…"

"_Thank you _for not saying it." he said with his best upper-class accent, and despite what I was going through, I almost laughed. Which, I realized a second later, was probably what his intention was by saying it; distraction. "Almost done here, now…"

"And I expect you'd want a reward after this for fixing me, hm?" I muttered; this was that particular kind of pain that, I knew, will make me all the more relaxed afterwards.

Which did not make it any easier keeping myself from cussing yet again as he found the last knot.

"You… are… worse than Aevan." I panted when he was done, feeling like every bone in my body was just yanked out. I kind of slumped against him, head slightly dizzy from the pain.

"Hm." He pulled the blankets up around my shoulders again. "Should I take that as a compliment or as an indication that this is one of the ways you don't wish me to touch you again?"

"One of the ways I don't…" I repeated slowly; that sounded way too formal. And odd, too; yes, of course it hurt, but it was _medicinal_, and due to my training, my pain tolerance was rather high, like any paladin's should have. There was clearly something else here. "Um…what was that supposed to mean?"

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" His voice grew hesitant and I felt him pull away. "I apologize; it was not my intent."

"Don't you go all… stiff on me just because I had a moment of… of… being all backwoods and stuff." I blurted out, angry at myself. "I'm just not sure what…" I trailed off, looking for the right words.

"As my lady wishes." His arms went around me again. "Maybe you really are more… innocent than you care to acknowledge?" he suggested quietly.

"I hate when you say that." I whispered. "It sounds like I am… I don't know, something dainty, vulnerable and prone to fainting."

"And that you are not, 'tis true." He leaned slightly forward and I felt him kiss the top of my head. "Neither are unicorns and still, all wise men know how pure those creatures are. Be not ashamed of it, my lady: there is strength in your innocence, such as in precious little in this world." He took a deep breath. "But I owe you an explanation, since you are clearly unfamiliar with what I've just… attempted."

"I am listening." _Did he just compared me to a unicorn_? _Really_?

"Um…" He cleared his throat. "This is about… courtship and such…"

"Yes?" I said as politely as I could. I had this brief and dreadful thought: I've heard stories about people who enjoyed dispensing pain like ordinary folks shared kisses and embrace. _Surely that's not what he_…

I dismissed the thought with an angry shake of my head; my human side was definitely getting paranoid here.

"I am assuming there are rules about two paladins… courting each other, right?" I continued, still using that carefully neutral tone.

There was a brief silence; he went very still. I had the feeling he probably picked up on those confused emotions swirling through my aura.

"Yes, there are, and we need to talk about them." he said finally.

I sighed inward. So that's what it was; he tried to use a language I was unfamiliar with. All right, I could work with that. It embarrassed the heck out of me, but if we wanted to make this work, it had to be discussed. My celestial self had a great moment of gentle snickering.

Casavir continued, picking the words very carefully.

"These…rules are very simple, and, really, not much different from the way it should be with any responsible adult… and yet, you would be saddened by knowing how much misery is caused by not observing them elsewhere."

I reached for his hand, took it in mine. The way he meticulously and thoroughly circled _around_ what he really wanted to say before he got to the real thing was rather endearing most times, but right now, I really would have preferred just straightness.

"I would hear them."

"Very well. I'll try to speak plainly and without utterly embarrassing my own self and you; understand that I am… just as new at this as you are, and everything I say is purely… from theoretical knowledge rather than experience."

"Well distinguished." I nodded. "And I understand."

His fingers tightened around mine.

"Just now… you gave me permission to work on that stiff shoulder of yours, right?"

"And I am still wondering about what possessed me to ask you." I smiled. Despite my protests, I felt much better. I forgot just how effective this particular technique was. "But yes, you're correct."

"So…in the future, I am allowed to repeat that, and…well, since you gave me permission to touch your shoulders…" He stopped, and it was my turn to grow flustered as I understood.

"Oh. " I said, overcoming my embarrassment. _Come on, Arrighan, really_… "So in the future… that particular touching… is all right. So is…" I paused, remembering things from tonight that made my blush deepen, "… based on tonight, let me see…"

"I see there's no need for me to make an absolute fool of myself." he murmured next to my ear and something low in my stomach tightened. "Yes, it is a dance of permissions and favors granted, based on…well, usually and traditionally from what I gathered, it is the woman who decides. It is… a very old system, and if you read that annotated version of the Ertorian Cycle I gave you, you can actually see a rather elaborate version of it all over the romances. It was theorized by some scholars based on that and other evidence, that King Ertos' knights were all, in fact, paladins of the Even-Handed, including some of the ladies."

"Getting all scholarly on me, will you?" I chuckled, feeling oddly relieved. "So… what you are saying is that in this… I lead?"

"Quite opposite from actual dancing, isn't it?" He hesitated. "Is this, then, all right with you, my lady?" he asked, failing to disguise the nervousness rising in his voice and through his aura alike.

"Oh, I _like _this formal paladin courting already." I said quickly, then turned in his arms, lifting my head so our face was almost touching. "I could use some practice, though."

His eyes were like deep pools of radiance; they pulled at me insistently and irresistibly…

"As my lady commands." he whispered, and his lips were claiming mine with an eagerness he couldn't quite disguise with polite manners any more. Azure and crimson mingled with silver all around us, it seemed, as our breath quickened; time stretched and slowed as he pulled me against him, one hand slowly sliding up and then down along my spine…

"Air..." I gasped when we finally parted. "It's important, they say."

"And I would agree." He unlaced his fingers from my hair, and laughed, a bit shakily, as he slowly smoothed some stray wisps of hair out of my face. "You truly do take my breath away, my lady." Silver sparkles of passion were swimming in his eyes, and I felt him trembling. "You can take any of the…favors back at any time." he whispered. "I…want you to have that. I wouldn't wish to rush anything."

"I'd hardly call this a rush." I gently bumped his forehead with mine. "Not that I would know."

"Neither would I…" That tentative, self-mocking half-grin was on his face again, and I knew I said the right thing. "In this, we are both novices, I am afraid…"

"All is well, then." I cleared my throat. "Listen, I hate to say this, but I am getting a bit cold, despite you being right here. And that means…"

"And your shoulders probably cramped up because of that in the first place anyway." He helped me up. "Time to take you back to the _Flagon, _then."

"You know what?" I muttered as we started to walk back to the door. "Without my shoulder cramping up there was no way I probably could have gotten your hands on me, anyway." I threaded my arm is his before he could pull away or claim that I was saying something inappropriate again. "Still, Casavir Korranos, I'll have you know that this was one of the best evenings of my life."

"Ah, that would be your famed West Harbor frankness again, my lady." he murmured, bowing slightly over my hand. "And while I must admit I find that speaking your mind so openly is one of your most… charming habits, I am afraid you'll have to spend more time with learning 'fancy manners', as you so succinctly put it earlier."

And so it happened; from the next morning forward, we were plunged into a rather frenzied rush of getting ready for our assignment with guarding an aged and eccentric aristocrat and attending the official opening of the Neverwinter ball season in our carefully constructed disguise as guests and assorted hangers-on.

Although that morning started pleasantly enough. My shoulders didn't bother me at all; moreover, I found that some hitherto unknown stiffness loosened up in them and I managed to flow through several of the more difficult postures in my morning devotional routines I had serious difficulties with earlier. That alone definitely made the pain worth it last night. _Of course_, I smiled to myself, _there were other benefits of our developing… relationship_. I tried not to think about those too much, though, because I found that they seriously interfered with my concentration. For that very same reason I got up rather early and finished with the exercises before I knew Casavir was due to come down. Somehow I felt I should be all done, clean and freshly scrubbed, sitting in the common room over three eggs and some sausages, not out in the training yard wearing my old training rags and tattered armor with my sweaty hair all over my face when he sees me in the morning. Even though I knew he wouldn't have said anything, and well, he'd seen me in worse condition than simply sweaty from morning training, the thought somehow disturbed me.

I knew I had to shake this newfound embarrassment rather fast; after all, my training with the Path of Silver Fire was not finished yet, but I decided to ignore the little voices in my head for now and concentrated on the food that Vana and Dory put in front of me. I was the first one in the common room that morning, and it made me absurdly happy—with all the things going on in my life lately playing havoc with routine I valued so much, I was truly pleased to know that I was back on track again.

I was halfway through my breakfast when others started to wonder downstairs. Shandra was the first: still half-asleep, she stumbled over to my table, gave me a hug and a peck on the cheek, mumbled 'will go make coffee now' and disappeared towards the kitchen. Duncan followed soon enough, tying on his apron, spotless and starched, in sharp contrast with the almost grey, disgusting piece of cloth he used to wear when first time I saw him arriving to Neverwinter.

"Shandra's got coffee started." I said, smiling at him. "And I think the girls have some more eggs made up already. You trained them well, Uncle."

"Ah, no, lass. They only do it for you." he said, patting my head. "I've never gotten a breakfast from them." He scratched his chin. "You said something about coffee?"

"Rumors are highly exaggerated." Shandra rematerialized from the kitchen with a carafe and a couple of mugs and looked him up and down. "_Somehow _I knew there will be more freeloaders."

"Hey." Duncan said warningly. "I _still _owe this inn, woman."

'Running it to the ground slowly, too." Shandra wrinkled her nose at him. "Here, have a cup and then go do your innkeep thing." She made shooing motions with her hands. "I want to have a good breakfast chat with Arrighan."

"Well, given that you suspiciously failed to show up for arms practice lately …" I ducked her arm swinging my way with her empty mug and continued, "…our breakfast chat should really largely be about what additional exercises you will get so you'll be in shape for this new assignment we're taking up."

"You are way to cheerful for your own good, lass." Duncan snorted. "Aren't you paladins supposed to be aloof, calm, collected and courteous…?"

"Your forgot the charming, beautiful and impeccably groomed part, _Uncle_." I emphasized that last part and smiled at him. "Charisma, you know; the stuff you half-elves supposed to have at least some of?"

"You can't ever deny you're from West Harbor, with that sharp tongue of yours." he muttered, casting an exasperated look at me. "And that you're conspiring with Shandra here."

"Me?" I opened my eyes wide, even batted my eyelashes. "Uncle, paladins don't _conspire_." I leaned back on my chair, using my best argumentation voice. "Don't forget that it was Shandra herself who wanted to talk to me, even plying me with coffee…"

"Tyrrans!" He threw his hand up. "No wonder folks around here call you 'tyrrants' instead." He smoothed down the collar of his shirt. "Ah well, since this'd be clearly one of those mysterious occasions you ladies call 'girl talk' I'll just go and do some inn-keeping, as I was instructed, shall I?" Shandra stuck out her tongue at him as we walked away, and whistled appreciatively after him.

"Nice butt, innkeep!" she called out, her full laughter lighting up the room. "Uh, sorry, Arrighan." she said looking at me apologetically, a sheepish look on her face.

"Oh, no problem." I tucked back into my food, shrugging. "He does have a nice one, yes; in a strictly uncle-y sort of way, of course." I speared a piece of sausage on my fork. "Now, you said you wanted to talk to me about something?"

"Um…" She looked at me oddly then shook her head. "You're really the weirdest paladin I've ever met, you know that?"

"Why? Because I don't demand that everyone behaves around me like they have a stick up their arse?" I noticed that she still didn't pour me coffee, so I fixed the problem myself, took the mug into both hands, inhaled the steam rising with a deep sigh. "Shandra, I don't think there is a paladin 'template' you can just apply to everyone who serves their god with their weapons to be an example. If there was, I know I wouldn't have had so much trouble with…" I trailed off as I noticed what her fingers were nervously playing with.

"Shan…" I said slowly, staring at her finger wearing the small but exquisitely formed heart-shaped diamond set on a slender gold band, and felt a giant unbelieving grin spreading on my face. "Shan, is that what I think it is??"

As she nodded, with a tremulous smile, I let out an entirely undignified whoop, jumped up from the table, food and coffee forgotten, to crush her in an embrace that probably would have cracked some ribs had she not been raised in a farm doing hard work from the time she could walk. This way she just made an odd wheezing sound and returned the hug, squeezing back with all her strength.

"He _did _it!" I yelled, finding myself jumping up and down, dragging Shandra with me. "He did it, and he only had to make sure I wasn't there so he had the nerve!" I picked her up and twirled her around. "That is so Duncan, doing it that way, and…"

I remembered, then, his nervous-sheepish grin, along with Casavir's expression last night just before we departed for the _Mask_.

"Ah, the bastards." I said, with feeling, and let Shandra go. "So that's what they were talking about! I would bet a hundred gold! That is, if I could bet …"

"What?" Shandra was still trying to get her bearings and breath back, sitting back on her chair with a thump. "Who? When?"

"Them." I waved my hand vaguely around and followed her example. "Last night I caught Duncan and Casavir talking and they clammed up like an oyster when I showed up, so…"

"Oh, gods." Shandra giggled. "Do you think Duncan… asked for advice from…?"

I shrugged.

"Don't know." I grinned back at her, feeling a bit giddy. "We didn't exactly talk about that, you know."

"Yeah, sorry." Shandra nodded. "I know, we all went out and had a great time at the theater, and once back, well…" she lifted her hand in front of her eyes, looking at the ring, sighing happily. "And you two probably talked about high politics over strategy maps until midnight, huh? With some good food at least, right? Duncan says they have the best kitchen at the _Mask_ outside of Nasher's castle."

"Well, the food _was_ good." I said cautiously, and in truth. Paladins never lie, right?

"Poor thing." Shandra patted my hand. "Always duty, never fun. Life of a squire, life of a paladin, hm?"

I swallowed nervously.

"Actually…" There must have been something in my voice because her face lit up with a mischievous smile and her eyes got as big as I've ever seen them.

"Rig…" She giggled again, incredulously, covering her mouth with her hand. "You didn't…?" I shook my head. "He didn't…?" I nodded, still feeling like a complete idiot, understanding what she asked before she even said it. "You two did…?" I nodded again, this time fully aware that my face was blazing with a spectacular blush.

"Come on." She grabbed my arm, pulling me up from my chair. "This requires a bit more privacy than this common room." I barely had a chance holding onto my coffee mug with my other hand.

She was like an inescapable force of nature; shooting a 'not now' look at Duncan who scurried back to the stack of mugs on the bar immediately, she dragged me to the back room, with its fading scent of flowers and array of crates and racks of weapons ready to be moved to Tavorick's estate.

"There." She locked the door, using one of the keys from the set she wore on her belt openly now, I noticed. I suppressed a grin, I've only ever saw that in Duncan's hands. "That's privacy." She clapped her hands together and twirled around, skirts swishing at her ankles. "So: tell me everything!"

"After you?" I offered nervously, still unable to wipe that smile off my face. "After all, you're the one who got the big rock. I just had a date."

"You just…" Shandra shook her head incredulously. "Really, Arrighan, you can be so totally dense sometimes! I mean, I might have grown up in a farm and driven wagons full of hay for years to meet ends meet, but I do come from a family that once used be someone in this city. Your 'just date' happens to be descended from the Second of the original Nine of Halueth Never! And not only I know it: we all heard that declared by Lord Nasher himself at your trial. Goodness gracious, lady; yes, I got engaged to your uncle, but you went out with a real blueblood on the first date of your life!" She sat down and giggled again. "I _really_ want to hear everything."

"But…but Elanee's Darmon…"That was, honestly, the first thing coming out of my mouth, and as soon as I said it, I felt deeply ashamed on top of my embarrassment for deflecting that question in such a manner. To cover that, I took a sip of my coffee as I sat down, cradling the mug as some kind of safety charm.

"Oh, don't get me wrong, I interrogated her mercilessly, too." Shandra winked at me shamelessly, resting both of her elbows on the table in front of her, inhaling the scent of a rose bouquet. "Unless, of course, there's some paladin rule about not talking." she hastened to add. "I'd understand."

"Shandra, really." I sighed, realizing that while I liked to poke Casavir about being such an excessively private person, when it came to this, I somehow felt the same. "It's not … it's just … _how_ do you talk about things like that?"

"Oh." Shandra looked at me for a second. "I am sorry; I keep forgetting that you…" She snorted. "Some friend I am, making you feel embarrassed about something that should be utterly wonderful and natural…"

"I know that, Shan. "I squeezed her hand across the table. "I am not….how would you best go about distinguishing here?" I frowned. "I understand the theory, I am just…"

"You are awfully cute when you're clueless." She leaned forward and planted a kiss on my cheek. "Listen, I know that this is forward of me and might sound like I am prying, but I just wanted to let you know that you can talk to me about… about stuff." Her eyes grew serious. "I owe you my life more than once and especially now, with Duncan and I…" She swallowed. "I was nervous about how you'd take it, truth to tell…"

"Shan…you make my uncle's heart smile from the first time he saw you." I said. "For that alone, I should be thankful to you. Whatever shadow he was still carrying from his adventuring days, they seem to be gone now that he found you, and while I know you pledged yourself to be my unofficial squire, this…" and I pointed at the ring on her finger, "…clearly takes precedence. So no need to apologize or think you were being forward. I'd guess it's natural for a woman in love to want to see everyone around her happy, too—and that's exactly what you're doing now."

"You bet…"Shandra smiled widely. "And just so that we're clear… Duncan would never ask me to stop my…" she paused, looking for words, "… I guess the expression I'm looking for is 'unofficial squiring', for you. It would be like, I don't know, like Casavir asking you to stop being a paladin and stay home wearing fancy gowns and look stunningly beautiful sitting on a balcony all day." She chuckled. "Even though I am sure he imagined you like that more than once."

I felt my cheeks flush at that, remembering how the heat of his gaze lingered on me as I closed my door last night, and how I stood there for a long time, keeping my palm on the wood, knowing he was doing the same on the other side…

"Ah." Shandra sighed. "I see. Sweet and clueless, the both of you. Hells, stop blushing! I don't need special powers to read you, I remember the signs well enough… I was sixteen and he left at the end of the summer with his father who was a traveling merchant." All of a sudden she sounded much older than her twenty-four years. "All right…I tell you what." she announced, sensing my discomfort. "I'll stop pestering you for details if you promise that if you need help, you'll ask me or Elanee first." She grew serious. "I love Neeshka like a sister I've never had, but she can be a bit… careless sometimes. I had to slap her yesterday because she couldn't stop herself trying to pinch a merchant's purse in the theater." I shuddered. "And she asked Duncan which pawnbroker he got the ring from because she was sure she knew a better deal somewhere."

"Yeah… and I call myself tactless." I muttered. "I see I need to have a word with her again." I felt a pang of regret; I was so wrapped up in my own problems, that lately I neglected my companions. "I have a lot to catch up on, I see."

"And you also had a lot on your mind lately." She patted my hand again. "You know, just because you stop motherhenning over us for a couple of days it doesn't mean we love you any less. And just for the record, you had a little problem or two you had to take care of lately, right? So there's no need feeling guilty over having a little… fun."

I seized on that immediately. Openings so wide really should be better guarded; Shandra should have known better—but then again, self-mocking, gentle fun apparently was something we paladins specialize in, so I couldn't quite blame her.

"What is this… fun you speak of?" I asked, with arched brows and innocent expression, and she sputtered her own coffee all over the table, and that was it. I turned the table on her; for the rest of our serious conversation, we stuck to _her_ telling _me_ all about last evening, this play they saw, the way Duncan pulled out the ring once they got back to the _Flagon_ and went on his knees, the way everyone just stopped and stared… I thought I made the appropriate sounds and noises expressing my happiness again, before I had to break it up and turn into more serious and practical matters that, as I had to realize as soon as we unlocked the door again, would indeed occupy almost every waking hours of mine for the next couple of days.

Khelgar was in training: as he was accepted as one of the Even-Handed's monks, he had to spend the next few weeks in intense seclusion at the Temple. Neeshka pouted a bit, of course, saying that this must have been an elaborate attempt from Khelgar's part to escape the indignity of posing as a visiting Dwarven notable at the ball. We came up with that on the grounds that there wasn't a big Dwarven community in Neverwinter anyway, and since Lord Callum was still in town, stuck for the winter season, we could have explained him away as a relative. "_The best thing about such relations…_" the dwarven member of the Nine said with glinting eyes while sitting in Nasher's study, "…_is that no one asks about the precise nature of relationships closely. Everyone's so well-mannered at these fancy parties that they all just assume you are someone, merely because you have one of those invitations." _But now, that he was ensconced in the Halls of Justice, that worry of mine was gone, too, even though I knew I'd miss Khelgar's steady presence and solid support.

Cormick's condition improved steadily, thank the gods. As soon as I could see him sitting up and asking, in a very hushed voice, and making sure none of the Ilmateri sisters taking care of him were around, if I could bring him some Leilon _uisce_ without violating my principles, I knew he'd be just fine. I looked at him, propped up with pillows, bandaged, pale and unusually stubbly-chinned, swallowed, and said I might know someone who could. When I was back to the Flagon I cornered Neeshka and explained my dilemma to her. She got a fiery gleam in her eyes, checked her coin purse for some change, and swaggered to Sal's bar where, to my greatest amazement, she actually _paid_ for one of those brown clay bottles, slid it under her cloak, grinned at me so her freckles were dancing, and run out the door without even saying goodbye. I spent the required hour in prayer for that transgression, but after I heard that the Marshal was released two days after, I felt significantly better. Neeshka remained smug and, according to Elanee, continued to make trips to the Watch headquarters, as she claimed 'for making sure they were kept informed about whatever the remainder of Moire's gang might have been up to'.

I, on the other hand, was stuck with one more dreaded thing, besides cataloguing contents of crates and waiting for the arrival of Lord Tavorick from Waterdeep. Casavir and I had been summoned to visit the palace tailor to have our ball wardrobes made. If I thought Hassim's shop and his ancient seamstress was torture, it was nothing compared to this. The person who was supposed to be the best of Neverwinter's tailors, catering almost exclusively to Lord Nasher and his Nine, was a pompous little man with a scented handkerchief and mannerisms so florid it almost made me puke. He took a look at the two of us standing in his fancy '_atelier'_, as he called it (I quietly swore if I ever heard Casavir using that word, I'd smack him), hummed and hawed and made those 'tsk, tsk' sounds that set my teeth on edge and rummaged through the jumble of thick books full of fabric samples he had strewn across the huge table that dominated the room.

"Not easy, not easy…" He clicked his tongue again. I ground my teeth and tried to smile sweetly. I promised I will behave. "Nothing pale, nothing understated, nothing vulgar. H-h-hm…" He grabbed a foolscap from the table with a pen and inkwell next to it, and started sketching something, glancing at us from time to time.

"What is he _doing_?" I whispered to Casavir. "I thought this was for fancy dresses, not our portraits."

"It is, my lady." he whispered back, one hand on my arm lightly, as if he was afraid I'd charge the little man. "He's sketching out the attire he envisioned for you and I."

"Huh?" I looked at him as if he was joking. "He's going to… _match _us??"

"Well, we're going to go together, right?" Casavir looked at me as if this was the most natural thing in life, and sounded just a little exasperated. "Or did you forget…?"

"Oh, just shut up." I shook my head. "I'm going along with this, but there's nothing that says I have to go along _quietly_. Especially after the last dance lessons."

Yes, I had those too. Waltz, pavane, gaillard and saltarello: luckily, as I treated them as a weaponless form of exercise, I picked up on them relatively fast. And well, those lessons, provided by another of Nasher's fancy-mannered palace men, gave us an excuse to actually spend time together in a less structured and formal way than what planning sessions and weapons practice offered. Not that he didn't well and soundly beat the crap out of me after that first morning at swords practice. I still had a lot to learn; apparently my techniques exhibited 'unnecessary flourishes' as Casavir was so fond of pointing out, that, according to him 'severely diminished the effectiveness of their devastating simplicity'. When I retorted, rather indignantly that he made that sound like a field report about a strategic withdrawal, I received a ten-minute sermon about how I needed to improve on my understanding of the finer points of military leadership if I ever wanted to advance in the ranks of the Order or in the court of Nasher as a squire.

Sometimes, just sometimes, I had the inexplicable urge to throttle him. Instead, as a good paladin should, I just gritted my teeth, and attempted the chokehold he so easily got out of again and again and again, until I had it down perfect and he had bruises on his neck.

That sounded like a splendid idea to try right now on both him and the tailor. I drummed my fingers on the table, trying not to look bored or annoyed, and failing spectacularly.

"Ah." The little man sighed, glancing at me briefly. I grimaced and kept drumming, defiantly. "Temper and spirit, too… That makes it easier. H-h-hmmmm…"

"What did I do to deserve this? " I sighed. "Please tell me that this is not repayment for all the times I stepped on your feet today during the dance lessons…"

"No, my lady. " Casavir said calmly, watching the little man's quill flying on the foolscap. "This is for all the times you didn't practice those advanced bindings you promised you would." I stared at him; whenever he jested, it still was rare and precious enough that, along with his smiles, I treasured those moments in a corner of my soul like deep sea pearls.

"You know…" I said when I finally got my bearings back, "…if I'd known that you can wound me with your words and your sword arm equally well, I'd have thought about it twice to ask Callum if it was all right for you to come with me from Old Owl Well."

"My lady, what did you expect?" He bowed his head slightly. "Paladins of Tyr have to fulfill several roles in more remote areas; using arguments or using steel should be treated like equally lethal weapons of our trade. I am sure your teacher included that in your basic training."

I lowered my eyes.

"What do you know, maybe I need a refresh." I murmured, glancing at him sideways. I caught a slight flush on his cheeks. _Ha! I got him this time_, I thought and grinned.

"And here we are!" The little man made one of those annoying flourishes with his hand again, right under my nose. "Absolutely perfect, I would think…let me just find the right material." I watched in horrified fascination as the little man started to flutter around in his workshop (I refused, even in my thoughts, to use that Cormyran word he insisted on), his wide lace cuffs flying around his head like butterflies, grabbing at two large bolts of fabric.

"I am aware that this ball supposed to be a joyous occasion…" He kept talking as he wrestled the bolts on the table, waving away Casavir's attempt to catch one of them that threatened to topple over him"… but I think a little drama is definitely called for. No understatement, oh no, not for you two." The wrinkly face lit up with a smile almost worth of Grobnar, as he grabbed his sketch again and started to make alterations. "I have never designed for any of the Even-Handed's warriors, but as you know, the Lord Nasher is favored by the Lord of Justice, so… the color scheme was somewhat easy." He pointed at me. "You, lady, needed relatively simple lines, but with some…softening." His gaze returned to the bolts of fabric on the table. "So you get the deep blue satin silk and the black velvet, with a bit of lace on the sleeves, perhaps, yes? Milord, though… that deceptive utilitarian look, indeed. H-h-hmmm… and of course, we keep the black velvet, with nothing but a slight accent of the same blue and perhaps a touch of silver at the cuffs and throat." A few more of those lines on his sketch and he was done, or it seemed so; he frowned, shook his head and tossed the quill down on the table. "Eh well… best I can do. No time, no time." Another flutter of hands. "We will start on these immediately; first fitting same time tomorrow. Would that suit?"

"Of course, _maître_." Yep, he was using another of those Cormyran words. I really, really needed to talk to him about how badly this grated on me; he never, ever gave me a reason to suspect he had these mannerisms while crawling in orc-infested caverns in the Sword Mountains. "We do appreciate the time and opportunity; you must be incredibly busy at this time of the year."

"Ah of course, of course, the Nine all wants their new wardrobes right now, too, but…" The little man picked up the foolscap and pressed it to my hand, "…I think it will be worth it." His gaze lit up as he looked at me. "Just think about how that contradiction of soft velvet and starched satin will look; enigma and mystery in colors highlighting your pales skin and hair…"Another flourish of hands in the air. "Magnificent! Overwhelming! Dramatic! My best work yet!"

I fled. I've never before did this, and never thought it possible, but that little Cormyran with his soft accent and extravagant manners filled me with mind-numbing terror of such extent as I've never experienced before. It was as if I suddenly faced the reality of being shown around in the highest circles of Neverwinter's nobility, while knowing that it would all be just an elaborate ruse so we could make sure Lord Tavorick was safe for however long we had to. The part of me that was Daeghun Farlong's ward, the part of me that climbed trees, wrestled horses and cows and punched out drunken teamsters screamed loud and clear when she thought about the idea of getting dressed in a silk and lace gown in cold blue and midnight black.

Casavir caught me as I was already a good ways down on one of the less-used corridors of Castle Never that led to the tailor's workshop. Literally caught me, by the elbow. And let me tell you, when _that_ paladin catches you by the elbow, even _this_ paladin stops.

"Yes, I am fine, thank you. "I said and I stopped. "And I apologize for my manners. I am afraid that I don't live up to the code of conduct to which you…"

"The hells with the code of conduct!" I have never heard him saying that before, and with that much anger in his voice either. "Why would you think that makes you any less…?" He threw up his hands. "I don't know what to do." he said simply.

"Casavir!" I could not believe I was doing this, but so help me gods, I actually grabbed the front of his shirt, jerked him close and yelled into his face. "Let me break this to you gently, dammit, Sir Knight! I! Am! From! West! Harbor! I! Am! Not! A! Born! Noble! I have no idea how to do this!"

"Well, then…"he said slowly and clearly and calmly, "why don't you ask me to help you?"

"Oh." I said, because that was about all the mental capacity I could muster. "Um." I continued in the same vein, still holding onto his shirt. "Could you…please help me?"

"Provided that you let go…" The corners of his beautiful, beautiful mouth quirked upwards. "I cannot even move, while you cling to me like that." I swear there was mockery in his voice. "Not that any man would object when a lady of your beauty rewards them with her close presence…" he continued, his hand covering mine still resting on his chest.

"You are… not helping me. " I muttered, feeling distinctly at disadvantage. While I enjoyed the banter with him earlier, this was fastly veering into those dangerously deep and alluring waters that I wasn't sure I was fully ready for. His face was so close to mine that I could see the faint line of an old scar by the hairline on the left side of his face. His breath made my skin tingle as it touched it, and I could hear my heartbeat speed up in quick thud-thud-thuds as I reacted to him being this near, so unexpectedly. I thought I could handle it—I grabbed after reason like so many pieces of straw—after all, didn't we just spent hours in the training yard this morning trying to choke the living daylight out of each other with our practice blades?

"On the contrary." His warm fingers tilted my chin upwards, and my heart almost stopped as I felt his touch on my skin. Why was it that I could face down demons and scores of orcs without fear, but the thought of being seen on his arm by a crowd of nobles made me literally tremble with terror? "You fear what is to come, do you not?"

I could only nod, as, yet again, his blue eyes bore into my very soul, it seemed.

"You fear that you can't be what everyone says you should, still." he said quietly. "You fear this ball and the guarding of Tavorick as something of a huge and unknown monster that threatens to devour you, or at least transform you into something you don't think you could be."

It shook me to my very core just how well he understood what was going on with me. But he hasn't finished yet.

"And also, and with all of that, you fear _me _as well." I started to say something, but he laid a finger across my lips. "Shh. Let me finish, please, before I decide I was too bold and forward. Remember, me, the human, shy and tongue-tied in the presence of you, the celestial-touched?" I nodded again, feeling a tremulous smile starting on my lips. "I don't quite know why, my lady… but believe me, you have no reason to... You are…" He got that far, then a strange, fierce look came upon his face and I felt his arms almost crushing me against his chest. "Please don't." he whispered into my ear. "I can't bear the thought that I cause you to fear me, or whatever I carry from my past or my future." His voice was rough, and full of emotion, like on that night when he talked about his past at the _Mask_. "This does not change me; this… this title or my ancestors or the fact that now you know I am Nasher's nephew. I am still the same person you've met in that canyon over Old Owl Well, as the sun was rising above the mountains. Please, my lady…Arrighan. Please?"

"Yes." I heard myself faintly, breathing the word against his chest. "Yes; all right." I felt that my cheeks were slightly wet. His heart was beating very fast.

Indeed, we understood each other too well.

"All right… dammit, Casavir Korranos, I will wear that blasted gown." I lifted my head and grinned at him, feeling just like if I'd issued a solemn vow. "Even though it looks like I couldn't take a step in it without ripping something."


	41. The Ledge Of A Deep Ravine

-1**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections. It really helps me to get better, so please feel free to leave a review. Thanks for all of those who have already done so—you guys are great!**

**There is language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things. Also, this chapter mentions some themes towards the end that might be offensive to some--to be on the safe side, I am putting the M rating warning back here.**

**For this chapter the following songs were played, lending inspiration: _Je Suis Désolé_ from Mark Knopfler's _Golden Heart_; _Sardinia_ from Capercaille's _Beautiful_ _Wasteland; _and _Raglan Road _by Loreena McKennitt from her_ Nights From the Alhambra _album.**

**And the usual wishful thinking: I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… The Pendwyr girl is entirely my fault, though. J**

**Chapter Forty-One: The Ledge Of A Deep Ravine**

To say that I was on the edge, fussy and generally a pain-in-the-behind was a mild understatement. The prevailing opinion amongst my companions, as usual, was first expressed by Neeshka as we neared the Tavorick estate's fancy gates about an hour ride out from Neverwinter.

"Oh, for Tymora's sake, Rig, could you lay off being such an ass for at least a second?" she snapped as I asked yet again if she has checked the packing list of the crate containing some high value magic items we got on loan from the Nine for assisting in warding off a possible demon attack on Lord Tavorick. "If you think I filched some of those friggin' relics, just think a minute--if Casavir's aura makes me itch, and let's not even start about yours, don't you think that some belt with one of your Tyrran saints' hair sewn into it would send me into a scratching frenzy? Leave me alone for just a minute and _think_!" She spurred her horse back towards the rear where Elanee and Grobnar were discussing some weeds they saw on the roadside.

"Well, that was well-deserved." I murmured looking back after her, feeling like I just got hot water poured all over me. Luckily we were a bit ahead of everyone else, so I didn't have witnesses to just how spectacularly I failed, yet again, to communicate with the tiefling without, figuratively speaking, a minor fireball explosion.

_Heavens and hells, indeed! _I muttered. Most of the time I was able to ignore the fact that our blood has threatened with violent clashes due to our heritage, but there was no denying it that right now it wasn't working. I could only hope it will get better once I actually had something to do and not just wait for the inevitable to catch up with me. I thought we were as prepared as possible and yet I was edgy. And that usually meant the storm was coming.

The meticulously maintained path leading to the estate gate was covered with white gravel, and lined with now bare poplars. It all looked utterly dignified, down to the coat-of-arms on top of the gate posterns and the lions holding them. The effect, though, was somewhat ruined by the guards posted at the gate.

"Greycloaks." Sand announced pulling up next to me. "Probably from that contingent of soldiers Nasher sent last night."

I nodded. We've been informed during supper by an unexpectedly arriving Sir Darmon that Tavorick has returned to his mansion from Waterdeep and Nasher dispatched a small unit of soldiers to guard him to assist us with guarding the estate.

"_Captain Ballard will make sure everything is secure until you get there. " Darmon shook raindrops off his cloak as he hung it by the stove. Behind him music and singing wafted in from the common room; the inn was full of Amnian sailors on shore leave, and they were loud._

"_Gods, if I hear once more 'I am leaving because I have to, love' in Amnian, I go out there and hit someone." muttered Neeshka next to me, referring to the drunken chorus outside._

"_Well, they are just happy they made it here." I pointed out. "Winter winds can apparently be unpredictable; Duncan says they actually were bound back to Amn from Helmsport in Maztica and got blown way off course, can you believe it?"_

"_Ooh." Neeshka's eyes acquired a gleam I knew all too well. "Maybe they have something worth…**talking** about, after all."_

"_Steady, girl." I squeezed her arm. "I am sure they'd be happy to… **talk** to you about their adventures later."_

"_Spoilsport." She pouted. "I just wanted to know if it's really true about the golden cities and stuff."_

"_Sure, Neesh." I shrugged. "And I am sure Marshal Cormick would love to read your name in next morning's report about tonights' arrests."_

"_Would that be Black Ballard?" Casavir interjected at this point (I never knew if he actually listened in, or the timing just worked out that way), nodding towards the knight. "I served with an Andrey Ballard over at Old Owl Well for a while."_

"_The very same." Darmon pulled off his gloves. "Field promoted since last you've met him as a Lieutenant, my lord."_

"_An excellent soldier; got most of his experience in the Luskan wars." Casavir looked a bit less grim. "Lord Tavorick will be in good hands till we get there, my lady." he said to me quietly._

_Darmon accepted a mug of ale and a plate of food from Duncan as he sat down and smiled apologetically at Elanee. _

"_Can't stay for long, unfortunately… Nine's business… but it's good to get something warm on a long winter night."_

"_Yeah, we can imagine." Bishop snickered from his usual chair in the corner of the table, glancing at Elanee and then me with a leer that was hard to miss. "Lovely warm things from the wilderness here for this city's lordlings to warm their little…"_

"_Bishop." I don't think I even sounded loud. "Walk away from the table, please."_

"_What, holy girl?" The ranger sniffed with a casual shrug. I saw Neeshka shoot a warning look to Elanee who shook her head for just a fraction, causing Darmon to sit back to his chair he was already halfway out of. "Can't hear you what with all the witty banter flying about in this room."_

"_Since you don't seem to keep a civil tongue in your mouth while eating, I need to ask you to walk away from the table please." I repeated, a bit louder but still quite calm. I could see from the corner of my eye that Casavir merely laid his fork and knife to the side and quietly observed. I was thrilled: a month ago he'd have been at the ranger's throat already. _

"_And why would I just do that, holy girl?" Bishop leaned back on his chair, the leer on his face replaced by that unidentifiable expression most would have called 'bored interest' but which for me signaled that he was at his deadliest. "For your two beautiful lavender eyes, hm?"_

"_Because I asked." I leaned towards him. "Because you behaved like a lecherous drunken sailor, except that would be an insult to the honest lecherous drunken sailors everywhere." Neeshka snorted, but I wasn't done yet. "Because I am paying for this dinner and as such I like everyone to be polite at my table. But mostly because Lord Tavorick and Lord Nasher is paying for your services rendered commencing tomorrow morning, and because I will be the one who would either be giving you your due bag of gold at the end of this assignment or kick your sorry ass out of this room and the entire enterprise for uncivil behavior in about ten heartbeats, so one of the Nine doesn't slice you up for breakfast sausage first. Your choice."_

My reminiscing was interrupted by one of the gate guards shout, loud enough to be heard across the distance that still separated me and Sand from them.

"Halt, there! Who're you, an' what business have y' here?"

"And it seems we've encountered the cream of Neverwinter's soldiers, indeed." Sand observed dryly. "No doubt any enemy would tremble, turn and run from _that_ determination."

"Quit with your "Halt there's," you great bumbling nit!" The other guard looked at his companion with an exasperated expression on his weather-beaten face. " 'Tis Squire Arrighan Pendwyr or I'm half a troll." He executed a smart salute as the rest of my companions and the cart drove to a halt behind me. "You'll have to pardon my comrade, your ladyship. We started as watch-hounds, you see, and there's nothing a watch-hound likes better than the sound of his own voice, 'specially when it's tellin' folk to "Halt!" and "State your business!""

I smiled at him; while styling me as 'your ladyship' struck me unawares, the irony that both of them used to be Watchmen didn't escape me.

"I wouldn't know anything about being a watch-hound, now would I?" Returning the salute, I looked around to see that everyone was present and accounted for. "However, the danger to this house is real. He's right to be cautious."

The younger soldier beamed up at me.

"There, see that? Cautious! Know what that word means, Wetherly?"

The one called Weatherly made a face.

"Bad idea, encouraging him, your ladyship. Guff here's locked his own children out of his house, on account of forgetting his latest password."

"He didn't!" Shandra said incredulously, looking at the two soldiers with wide eyes.

"It was dark an' raining that night, Wetherly, an' young Ronel's been growin' so quick I hardly know him to look at him!" Guff retorted, throwing a look at Shandra. He straightened his shoulders and smoothed down his moustache with the universal gesture of a soldier seeing a pretty girl in a tight riding outfit on horseback.

Weatherly shook his head in a somber and fatherly fashion. I had the feeling these two had spent a rather long time serving together.

"I'll let the gods be the judge of that, Guff. Now, let's quit pestering the squire, afore she decides to clap us in irons." He saluted again, looking up at me. "Old Black Ballard's a waitin' for you, inside, Squire. He should be in the great hall, probably arguin' with m'lord Tavorick over where to put all the decoratin' for the Ball or somesuch. They're in a right state, in that great house, I tell you."

We left Grobnar and Elanee in charge of the cart with the crates and whatnot, and, after having some grooms taking the horses in front of the great curving staircase and colonnaded entrance, we finally entered the mansion itself.

"No way this place can be protected." Bishop muttered, looking around. "Way too many windows, too big…"

"I agree. But we don't need to protect the whole thing." I reminded him, looking around as we hurried through the entrance hall. "Just Lord Tavorick."

"Hells, holy girl, _finding_ him in this house would take a map." The ranger's amber eyes moved around constantly. "Unless you plan to stick by him like a tick…"

"Why do you think we are here?" I shot back. "We can take turns."

"You kidding me." Bishop looked at me slowly and shook his head. "You ain't kidding me."

"You keep saying Tyrrans are incapable of humor, Bishop." I clapped his shoulder. "It's time you make up your mind. Let's go."

"One of these days, holy girl…" I heard him drawling behind my back as I sped up. I didn't wait to hear the rest of it. I run up the grand staircase leading to a set of double doors; this must have been the entrance to the Great Hall.

Indeed it was. As I pushed the doorwings open, I found myself in a cavernous hall, with columns and floor of pale marble the color of linden honey, slightly gleaming even in the sparse winter light coming through the tall, narrow windows. There was some definite activity in here: I could see a couple of servants removing white covers from chairs and tables grouped around in corners, two harried-looking housemaids chasing cobwebs with long mops, and rather soon I spotted the gaunt form of an old man dressed in a gaudy purple old-fashioned doublet-and-hose outfit, talking animatedly to a tall, sandy-haired man in his forties wearing a maille shirt, vambraces and greaves.

"That must be the lord of the house with Captain Ballard." I murmured as they turned towards us.

"What's this, more of you?" The gaunt old man with the surprisingly dark, almost full head of hair peered up at me sideways like a bird. He was about Elanee's height, but I didn't think he weighed as much as my elven friend. I haven't noticed this until now, but he leaned on an ornately carved cane. "Nasher thinks an army's going to stop me from dropping dead?"

I inclined my head, respectful of his age and status.

"My name is Arighan Pendwyr, milord. Lord Nasher has sent me and my companions to…"

"Yes, yes, Ballard here told me you were coming." Lord Tavorick waved his cane in front of me; I took a careful step backwards. I heard Bishop snigger. "Well, good for Nasher. He ought to send more women to guard me." He smiled at me with a twinkle in his eyes. "Hells, sack all the men and hire on an army of pretty ladies. City Watch would be a good deal more popular, I guarantee it."

"Tell us all about it, old man…" I heard the ranger's sarcastic comment and I half-turned to glare at him. He winked at me just as cheerfully as if he hasn't stormed out from our dinner snarling insults the night before.

I felt a not-too gentle slap on my shoulder; Tavorick apparently used his cane to get my attention.

"I say…"he continued as if it was perfectly normal that he tapped a woman a head taller than him with his walking stick on her shoulder, "…Arrighan Pendwyr…yes. Heard about that business with Lisbet Bryce, young lady." He shook his head wistfully and I felt a chill. How did he learn about that? He must have been in Waterdeep at the time… was gossip traveling that fast, really? "I ought to have a chat with her father." He scoffed disdainfully. "Man can knock nearly anyone off a horse with a pointed stick, but he can't raise one eighteen-year-old girl. A pretty little thing, too. Should have sent her over here, I'd have taken her in."

I heard a discreet cough behind me. I recognized Casavir's voice; Tavorick peered out from behind me at my companions and I saw his eyes narrow.

"Don't you look at me like that, it wouldn't be the least bit improper." he announced, shaking a bony finger. "Not more improper, anyways, than to send a pretty girl with a sword to look after me. And just when did you get back to Neverwinter, young man?"

"I am sure it wouldn't have, Lord Cyran." Casavir said, with some amusement in his voice as he inclined his head. I noticed he gracefully ignored Tavorick's question. "However, as I am sure you've been informed, Squire Pendwyr here can take care of herself with the sword, and of anyone who might come to harm you."

Tavorick chuckled.

"Your Order missed your wit and charm, I am sure, young man." he said, leaning on his cane again. "Dry as twigs, they all are. Although I hear this girl here might have some promise… Is that why you're with her, eh? Besides her looks, I mean?"

I felt this conversation was veering into unpredictable paths; I grabbed at the reins before it completely got derailed. We were here on business.

"I'm sorry about your friends, milord." I said quickly trying to steer again.

"What, you mean Dalren and Brennick?" Tavorick turned his attention back at me. "Probably happier now, those two. Acted like they were dead anyway." He sighed, a bit sadly. "Hawkes was different, though. Used to ride up to the Academy and back from his house just next door here, almost every morning." I was impressed. That was several miles on horseback, every day, for someone in their age. " "Cyran," he'd say, "my heart's gotten just as forgetful as my head. If I don't remind the lazy old thing to keep pumping, it'll up and quit on me."" He shook his head, and that lopsided grin I saw on his face when he mentioned Lisbet Bryce appeared again on his face. "Good old Hawkes. We used to sit on those benches out front and ogle all the pretty girls. 'Never know when you'll meet one who fancies older men'... that's what Hawkes always said."

"Well, you do look young for your age." The words were out of my mouth before I could think; I was mortified for a second, but was rewarded by another of those grins that, I decided, must have had a rather devastating effect on ladies around fifty years ago.

"See this? Full head of hair, and me eighty-four years old. Go on, it's real - yank on it, if you like!"

"Um…"I cleared my throat. I expected a lot of things; but Lord Cyran Tavorick was none of those. That image of him with another old man sitting in front of the huge sprawling mansion and ogling the staff coming and going…

_Well, when you encounter the unexpected, improvise_. Isn't that what Aevan told me once? _And better do it quick._

All right, when in doubt…stick to your sword and change the subject! All at the same time.

_Watch me. Just watch me._

"So…" I said, using my lightest voice but combined with my most intense stare, straight at the old lord. "I meant to ask just now: Where is the shard?"

He grinned again and patted his tunic.

"Got it right here, in my pocket. And that's where it's staying, too. Told Nasher I wouldn't give it to him, and he said I wouldn't have to. It's my shard now, my responsibility. And us Tavoricks always took responsibility very seriously."

It was odd, how his eyes, so clear and piercing in one second, could cloud over and become watery and almost bleached from one instant to another. I suspected this had something to do with old age, and a little sadness crept into my heart watching that transformation taking place.

"Nice enough fellow, Nasher." He muttered, his fingers idly stroking the chest of his tunic over his heart. "Seems to like sitting on that throne of his. Ancestor of mine made that throne, and you know where it got him? Exiled to Icewind Dale. Silly fool thought he'd sign his initials on the bottom. I ever tell you what I think of artists?" He turned away, staring at the wall nearby, where a couple of large paintings were hanging, depicting scenes from long-gone balls and hunts in vivid colors.

"He has a real talent for changing the subject." Sand quipped.

"Or just totally off his rocker." Bishop all of a sudden was right next to me, lightly touching my arm, whispering into my ear. I suppressed the instinctive response of elbowing him in the face with excessive force—I was proud of myself. "Old man, losing his friends, losing his mind…will he remember to pay us, by the way, holy girl, you think?"

"Most certainly, if you do your job and stay in the _background_." I whispered back, removing his hand from my arm. It was almost as if every time I got verbally or physically confrontational with him, he took it as a sign of attention. It made me feel uncomfortable, but I knew I could handle it—for now. "Now, as for introductions…"

The sandy-haired officer who so far stood quietly and unobtrusively to the side, came to attention as suddenly as if he was one of those golems from tales of old that wizards of the old Illefarn Empire created by the hundreds.

"Squire Arrighan Pendwyr; Captain Andrey Ballard, at your command." He saluted, and I found myself returning it.

"If you don't mind me saying, Squire…"he continued, a hint of enthusiasm coloring the otherwise utterly professional voice, "... it's an honor to serve with you. My men and I were there for your trial by combat. Warmed a lot of veterans' hearts to see you rout that Luskan dog."

I swallowed. This was _not_ the time to start arguing about whether Lorne was really a Luskan or not.

_I believe this is what Aevan so fondly called 'the ignoble but necessary art of diplomacy, child.',_ I thought while I shook my head and forced a smile out.

"I should be thanking you for your service, Captain, not the other way around."

There was relief and thanks of his face, in his slowly relaxing features. Captain Ballard apparently didn't get many thanks during the course of his career.

"Means a lot to hear that, ma'am. A lot of folk would rather forget the Luskan war, and us with it. Lucky for us, Lord Nasher isn't one of them." He looked behind me and snapped to attention again.

"Sir! This soldier apologizes, Sir." he said stiffly. "This soldier wasn't informed that…"

"At ease, Captain." Casavir stepped up next to me; I figured it must have been him attracting the captain's attention, since he mentioned they had served together earlier. Still, it was odd to see he caused such a strong reaction. "I am no longer your superior in the chain of command." He thrust out a hand. "And it's an honor to see you again."

"Yes, Sir, Commander Korranos, Sir." Ballard was stiff as a board; clearly, old habits died hard and these two had history that went way back. He swallowed and, since Casavir still held his hand out, he gingerly took it, discomfort etched on his face. He held the handshake only for the fraction of a second, then he got back to the 'at ease' position, textbook-perfect. "The honor is ours, sir, ma'am."

"Relax, Captain." I smiled again. "As far as my orders go, this is a collaborative mission, not an assertion of authority over you and your men. You can guard the house more efficiently while we can take care of the more delicate part of the assignment while the ball is going on." I cleared my throat. "So with that said… can I get a report?"

The next hours sped by quickly, spent with getting briefed by Ballard. While we had the layout of the estate pretty much down, thanks to the maps we received from Nasher, there was a lot to learn about the exact details, and, most importantly, about the ball that was to take place the next day. While Tavorick was quietly dozing in one of the comfortable armchairs in a corner of the hall, the rest of us sat around him, trying to ignore his snores and got introduced to Ballard's squad—all veterans of the Luskan wars, all stiff and military at first, but I hoped to get them loosen up a bit. I understood the necessity for discipline, but I held to the opinion that everything had its time, and I never thought I had to be all stiff and formal every waking hour of the day just because I was one of the Even-Handed's warriors. I learned their names quickly, flashed a smile at each of them (the youngest, Finn, their archer, flushed such a deep crimson I was afraid he was to burst into flame), and concentrated on the practical details that poured out of Ballard like a river broke after spring thaw.

Our quarters were on the first floor, directly next to Tavorick's suite. I got the empty rooms of the lady of the house, for the sheer practicality of having a connecting door between the two suites, so if anything happened to Lord Cyran, I was right there. Bishop, of course, had a field day with that, but as our entire party collectively ignored his remarks, eventually he gave up. Casavir got billeted to the other side, (another opportunity for the ranger to be disgusting, suggesting that perhaps since Tavorick was hard of hearing, he wouldn't mind us sneaking into each other's room through his) and the rest of my companions were distributed evenly. There were enough empty rooms on the floor to everyone have their own separate accommodations, and spacious ones too. When I asked if this would pose a problem with all the guests arriving for the ball, Ballard frowned and assured me that there were at least a dozen similar ones in the other wing of the house that the staff was very busy getting into order for days now.

Neeshka rather liked it here. She knocked on my door about five minutes after we settled in and agreed on an hour break to get everything arranged and ready before we assembled again for a supper. I was busy hanging clothes into the huge armoire occupying half of the wall next to the window, and didn't even turn around as she bounced into the room.

"Wow!" she announced. "Your room is bigger than mine. And you have a bathroom."

"I also get attacked first if anyone tries to get to Tavorick, so I think it is justified." I smoothed down the blue cloak to get the creases out and turned. "But the room is all right for you, I take it?"

"The bed has curtains." She walked around, peeking into the corners, behind draperies and paintings and furniture. I knew it by now that it wasn't just idle curiosity or a thief's compulsion to find hidden treasure—during the months together she saved our lives quite a number of times by finding traps or hidden magical devices in various places. I stayed silent, kept unpacking, folding and handing and let her to do her thing.

"All clear." she said at the end of her round. "Your room was the last, so I can stay and chat a bit. Ooh, apples!" She noticed the little basket that was placed on the table in front of the fireplace; it had a couple of apples, nuts and pinecones arranged on a bed of moss and boughs of pine and holly; traditional signs of the Yule season, left there by the house staff as a thoughtful welcoming gift, I was sure. "I love winter solstice!"

"Go ahead, have some. " I said, looking around. "Do you think I can find an armor stand somewhere?" I tried to recall the map of the estate. "I think there was a room marked 'Armory' in the other wing…"

"Yeah, I can see you'll need that." Neeshka looked thoughtfully at the chest housing my armor at the moment. "I tell you what; you go ahead and find it, and I'll help you hang it. Until then, I'll just see if your bed is as comfortable as mine…and admire your ball gown." She eyed me mischievously. "I can see why you're so edgy… that thing has more cleavage than you probably ever wanted to show."

"Shut up, Neesh." I said mildly. I tried not to think about it, but, as usual, she found at least part of the reason for my nervousness about this ball. "Whatever possessed this tailor of Nasher's to give me something like that…" I muttered, dusting my hands off after I pulled the armor chest into a safe distance from my other clothes. "First of all, I have this rather large scar starting right below my collarbone, if you recall, that would be totally exposed. Second, and this is much, much more important, I am…well… I am…" I stammered to a halt. I honestly didn't know how to put the fact that while I was definitely not overly muscular or huge, like a lot of warrior-women portrayed in popular tales (and seen on the streets of Neverwinter myself), I had… curves.

"Dearie, let me break this to you gently." Neeshka sat down on top of my bed, her tail describing lazy, graceful curves above her head. "One: that scar, your shard-scar, would look rather… well, interesting and intriguing and full of secrets and possible… mmm… possibilities framed by that neckline." She winked at me and I blushed; now that I thought about it, that's probably exactly what the little man intended.

"Two…" Neeshka continued with a raised finger, "… with that wired corset thing we found for you that you will be wearing under it, trust me, _nothing_ will move or pop out."

"Much reassuring." I frowned. "If it does let me breathe, that is." I already dreaded that corset more than facing a band of bladelings. It looked terrifying with its whalebone stiffeners, embroidered silk piping, lace trim and silk cords, like a torturing device out of some Loviatar-worshipper's dreams. Neeshka and Shandra, however, repeatedly assured me that it was essential to achieve the proper silhouette for a ball gown, and as such, was perfectly normal in a well-to-do lady's wardrobe. The fact that, as I pointed out, I was just about as far away from being a well-to-do lady as I was from being a Loviatar-worshipper, entirely escaped both of them. They both offered their help with getting me into it, if I did the same for them. Shandra told me this was rather normal, friends helping each other into their gowns prior to great balls; her mother passed that part of etiquette to her on a pragmatic 'might-come-handy-one-day' basis while reminiscing about the time she met Shandra's father, back in the olden days of the Jerros still being part of the city's nobility.

"Oh, and three: you will have a dagger on you somewhere, right?" I nodded; I was careful to pick up one of those thigh-sheaths and straps at a shop that Neeshka told me about, so I could go to the ball not completely unarmed. That would have been worse than the corset. I was assured the sheath will not cause any discomfort under the taffeta underskirts of my gown.

"So you shouldn't worry. If any of those fancypants gets frisky, you can just stab them in the…" She hesitated. "Um, in an appropriate place, you know? Except, maybe…"She winked. "But no, it is unlikely that _he_ would ever…"

"Neesh." I didn't even raise my voice. "Anyone ever finds me under that many underskirts…"

"Rig!" Neeshka clapped her hands and jumped off the bed. 'Did you just make a… a… ribald joke? Wow! This is so exciting! Do you need to go to confessions now?"

"No, I need to go and find an armor stand. " I adjusted one of my hairpins in the mirror before heading out the door. "Make yourself at home, if you want… By the way, I'm afraid I already tossed out most of the pillows and mattress pads from the bed, so it's a bit too hard for your taste. And there's chocolate somewhere in the small travel chest by the bedside, with the books." She stuck her tongue at me and I ducked out, grinning. We were back just like old times.

The armory was exactly where the map said it would be; across the big stairway, directly above the great hall, next to the library. And there were about six unused armor stands in it, neatly stacked in a corner, too. I also wasn't the only one who had the same idea; the brush of a silver-blue aura touched mine the moment I pulled on the doorknob.

"Fancy running into you here…" I grinned at Casavir who already wrestled one of them upright from the pile and now was inspecting it in the dim winter light coming through the half-pulled draperies on the windows, with a thoughtful frown creasing his forehead. "Is there another one there I can use?"

"I was just… thinking about that, my lady." He was a bit out of breath as he started pulling out the second stand, getting the protective dustcloth off; these were the fancy expensive ones made out of oak and other woods, all polished and shiny.

"Giving me an armor stand as a present, huh?" I gave him a hand with the second one. "Okay, as a loan." I corrected; precision was one thing a Tyrran should always strive for, in speech as well as in thoughts and in a fight. He couldn't give me something that wasn't his.

"You will need to give me a hand to get these back into our rooms, anyway. And I did ask Lord Cyran." he pointed out calmly. "He said he probably hasn't been in this room in years, so we're welcome to get anything we can use while here. I told Captain Ballard to take him up on that offer; and to write a receipt if they take something, of course."

"Write a receipt." I repeated, sweeping my hair out of my face. "How… relentlessly practical." I looked around. "So this is how a proper armory looks like, hm?"

"Actually… this is a rather neglected armory, my lady, but…yes." He looked at me curiously. "Forgive me… I forgot that you've never actually had a chance to be in one."

"Yeah, closest I've ever gotten was my own little room at the Flagon." I shrugged. "I am not offended, Casavir. We came from such different backgrounds to meet halfway... hells, most of the time I forget you're a blueblood."

"And I take that as the greatest compliment from someone from West Harbor." He nodded, with just the slightest hint of smile playing on his lips. "Well, would you care to look around?"

"You've been here before, then?" I asked, curiously, then added, hastily. "You don't have to talk about it…I mean, if I pry…I didn't mean to…"

"No, there's no offense." The smile was definitely there this time. "I have been visiting for a couple of times after Temnara became my stepmother. Lord Cyran was very active back then, and I was invited to a couple of hunts and other events. I could only accept a couple of those, you understand; my field assignments kept me rather busy and out of the city most of the time. But when I could, I enjoyed the opportunity." He leaned against the long table in the middle of the room, arms casually folded in front of his chest—he looked so relaxed and at ease it made me feel slightly light-headed with the sudden joy of it. It was so utterly busy and frantic the past few days, we scarcely had time alone, and even then only for minutes. It did not exactly make being romantic easy, to put it mildly. And with both of us being extremely shy and self-conscious in this… last time he tried to sneak an arm around my shoulder as I leaned against him while going through the estate's plans once more back at the _Flagon_, Sand showed up to tuck one more dusty tome into one of the crates before closing it down, and that kind of spoiled the mood.

"You seem to be more… at ease talking about your past then before." I remarked. I carefully dusted off a square on the top of said table next to him and hopped on to sit; this was one of those odd rooms with only a couple of chairs in sight, and all of them on the other side of the table.

One eyebrow quirked up in that characteristic way that became so dear to me lately.

"In your presence, my lady, my whole life seems to be easier as of late."

"Oh. "I said, rather intelligently; I was not used to this, not at all. I mean: what do you say to something like that? I know Amie would have giggled and turned bright red….well, I had the bright red portion of that down, I thought, but giggling I tried to grow out of.

"That's… all good, then? "I offered, studying the toes of my boots as they dangled above the inlaid hardwood floor. The scuffed-up black leather seemed to be in odd contrast with the geometric patterns of oak and mahogany.

"I would definitely think so." This time no one interrupted him as he slid an arm around my shoulder. "Allow me to give you the tour, my lady… there are some quite interesting artifacts in this collection."

"You know…" I said as he took my hand, trying hard not to laugh "…if this wasn't you and this wasn't me, that line would have caused quite a scandal. I mean, you know the joke about swords and all, right?"

Now it was his turn to blush. I shook my head at it; it still amazed me that for a man and a warrior he cold be so uncomfortable with anything that could be even the slightest bit misunderstood.

"Hey." I said gently, squeezing his fingers. "Remember; don't you turn all… stiff on me."

"I actually… try not to." he said slowly and just then what I actually said hit me.

Oh sweet Tyr, if I thought I was embarrassed before, that was nothing compared to this. At the same time, I was perfectly aware just how ridiculous this whole situation was, what with two adults who had been perfectly capable of calling down celestial fire to smite evil at short notice being this excessively and painfully shy around each other.

So I did the only thing that seemed like an honest possibility at this point: I looked at him square on and burst out laughing.

"You know…" I said while trying to overcome the wave of laughter, "…we might turn this into an art form if we really try. I mean, seriously… pretty much anything can be turned into innuendo, right?"

"I suppose." he said cautiously. "However, you must admit neither of us are exactly experts at this."

"Sorry, _milord_." I made a face, and decided to ignore the sudden tension in his shoulder and arm, clearly felt through his hand I held. "I know that you are, as you told me not once, not twice, an excessively private person, so I claim the advantage over you in this. I grew up in a swamp village, had been traveling with a rather foul-mouthed dwarf, and a tiefling with a checkered past for a long time, served as a Watch lieutenant at the Docks… I got enough innuendos, catcalls and offers thrown at me to be able to not only recognize but eventually learn to, if necessary, reciprocate in kind. Not that I particularly enjoy it, but, you see, out of necessity, I kind of had to." I let go of his hand, leaned back on my arms, sitting on top of the table and threw him a look from under my lashes. "What have _you _got?"

He was on me so quick I didn't even have time to take a breath; I always forgot just how fast he could be without armor. In a split second, I was pinned down under his weight, my arms above my head in his vise-like grip, his face, oddly expressionless except from a faint frownline between his brows, a fraction of an inch from mine, his other hand grabbing my throat.

"I spent all of my adult life amongst soldiers and warriors, lady." His voice was almost a growl, and I had to close my eyes from the almost visible flash of wrath that shot through his aura in a flash of violet and lavender. "You let your guard down an instant like that out in the Sword Mountains, you issue an invitation with your body like that to anyone in any tavern that scrapes out a living between orcs, barbarians, and human monsters, and you are prey and discarded so quick you can't even cry out, no matter your training." His fingers tightened around my neck pressing just the right points of nerve-endings and veins to have me dizzy and weak from lack of blood. "It would never stand in any court of Tyr, but there are people out there who'd say you wanted this and invited them to do it, you understand?"

_Shit, shit, shit. _My human side kept chattering and screaming like a bunch of crazy chipmunks in my head. _This was one of those lessons again, for my overconfidence and pride_…_Stupid, stupid, stupid_. He was so right; I had no idea what I was doing, and insulting him like that, implying that I actually knew more about worldly matters than him just because he was always so disciplined and damn reserved and _nice… well, condescending and prideful and just godsdamn all-out shitty is a mild way to put it, Rig._

"Old Owl Well was no Tavorick's ballroom either; there were things I've seen there I'd rather you never hear about." He continued in the same measured low tones, almost cutting into me with their cold precision; and I felt through that connection we had, the way shades of yellowish teal streaked his aura now, that he remembered something sad that happened a long time ago that my silly little innuendos drudged all up from his memories. "Soldiers are a rough bunch and they are not gentle or mannered in their courting of camp followers or sweethearts, even though discipline is maintained. As a commander, I had to mete out capital punishment for rape or disfiguration more than once." There was a glint of steel in his azure eyes; the memory that surfaced must have been a hard one. "You wouldn't know now, but when I first met Black Ballard he was a drunkard and a violent man, accustomed to taking what he wanted just because he _could_, not answering to authority because he was such a successful small platoon leader, decorated for his bravery in defending the walls of the City in the Luskan wars. I got assigned to Old Owl Well because Callum needed law and order maintained amongst his troops by someone more than just his ordinary officers. My assignment as a holy warrior of the Even-Handed and an officer of Neverwinter there was to keep, by any means, Neverwinter's soldiers from becoming like those they fought against: savages of the mountains threatening the ordinary people. I took me more than a year, and Tyr knows how many hard lessons learned and administered, to make those men, Lieutenant Ballard first among them, understand that if we were to win there, we had to be _more _than those we fought against."

He released me just as suddenly as he grabbed me, straightened and bowed.

"I am a Korranos, and a paladin, chosen by oak and lighting for the God of Justice. We are trained, and disciplined, and we know Good from Evil in deeds, acts and hearts. Remember that, when you wonder why I am not quick to return ribald jokes or be more forward with you than perhaps you'd like me to." He bowed again, formally, like at the end of a sparring lesson. "I trust you will take this instance of transgressing on the rules I've set myself as part of your training."

"I…" When I found my voice, it was barely a whisper. "I…think I deserved that." With all my limbs trembling, I got off the table. "I am sorry…"

"Oh, gods." he said suddenly, almost choking on some emotion and reached out an arm. "_You _apologize, my lady? I…"

_I almost hurt you. _It was written on his face as clearly as if he'd said it, and I knew the lesson was over.

"No, it's all right." With my next step, I was within the circle of his arms. "I understand, really." I meant it. What he just shared with me about his years as Callum's adjutant… it was painfully clear to me now that all of that experience and his long years as an outcast, truly made him for what he was. If and when he chose to share that with me, to let me learn from it, I had to just shut up and listen and pray that those lessons stuck with me fast.

"Then not much more needs to be said about it." His heart was beating fast, but his voice was gentle and soothing. "As I told you before, your innocence is a rare and precious thing in this world, my lady… would that we all were afforded more of it."

"But it can be dangerous to think that others see it just as you do." I took a deep breath; part of the lesson he just gave finally sunk in. "And since we've got Bishop with us…"

"Truth we vowed, my lady." He let out a sigh. "I cannot give you any less. He will be a problem. You can handle it now, I know… and don't think for a second that this is some kind of patronizing instinct, or that I would…as the romances say, see a rival for your affections in him. That would be, considering who you are, rather ridiculous, if I may use the word. The ranger, though… I've met his kind before, I think."

"One of the soul-dead, yes." I nodded, and I caught an appreciative glint in his eyes at that assessment: one Tyrran to the other. "I've felt that in him the first time I saw him. Everything is just a game for him to improve the odds of survival for the only person he cares about: himself." I pulled back a little and looked at him. "We need him, Casavir. He is the only tracker we've got, and his skills at getting around unseen and doing damage are second only to Neeshka's. And Duncan vouched for him."

"That's what I am wondering about." He let go, and turned to the oak-paneled wall with its racks upon rack of weapons, surveying the various blades with narrowed eyes. "If you allow me to use some…" he cleared his throat delicately, "resources when this is over, my lady, I would try and find out a bit more about his past. It fills me with a certain unease to have such a wild card so close to you."

"Sure." I nodded. "I welcome any help; and this is for the good of us all." He looked at me a bit surprised, and I couldn't hide a smile. "Why, my lord…" I said, my tones easing up considerably…"would you think I'd cast aside your _assistance _just to support my own self-importance and faith in my own infallibility? Surely you don't accuse me of heresy, now?"

The smile on his lips lit his face like a bright ray of sunlight, and his aura was full of silver sparkles all of a sudden.

"Much better." His voice deepened, as he bent his head to my ear. " You see, my lady, I'd prefer if, were we to use such manner of speech, it was only you and I who understood the true meaning of what's said."

I shivered and turned my head at that, and my lips brushed his with the lightest of touches, feather-light and whisper-quick.

"Arrighan…" he breathed my name, looking at me with the expression of a drowning man seeing the last bit of sky above the water disappearing as he sinks towards the darkening depths, and I understood. He gave up the freedom in this so completely and utterly to me that evening at the Mask, that even though I could feel him wanting to pull me to him with all the strength he had, bury his fingers in my hair, kiss me, and more, he stopped and waited and made sure I really was ready and willing--and let me decide how far.

My hands went up, cradling his face, fingers gently stroking his hair, and I kissed his forehead. He took a sharp, shuddering breath and went utterly still, letting my lips trace a path to his brows and around his eyes, feeling the delicate eyelashes flutter, mapping the shape of the lids and the fine creases at the corners. I followed his hairline along his temples, my own eyes closed, as if committing each line, each bone, every inch of his skin into memory. Cheekbones, jawline, chin: all these I explored, gently but thoroughly, inhaling the clean, fresh scent of his skin mingling with the incense of the god and feeling the tangle of his raven-dark hair under my palms. I kept my eyes closed, myself firmly in the here and now, not thinking, just feeling.

A quick brush of my lips against his, again, and again, gently kissing the corners of his mouth… Almost as if their own volition, my hands released their hold on the side of his face, fingers tracing a path down his neck, starting a separate path on his collarbones, shoulders, arms, then back up, shoulders again, feeling the muscles knotting and unknotting, heart pounding like a captive bird at its cage in his chest as my fingers finally came to rest, as I came to terms with my own inability to continue.

"See? I kissed you first." I whispered then, and wound my arms around his neck, smoothing my burning face into the crook of his neck. I wasn't sure what it was that possessed me just now, but I was determined to see it through. "I'd say that counts as a permission." I thought for a second and added. "And, just because we're both Tyrrans… this grants you the freedom to kiss me first in the future any time you feel like it."

"My lady is most generous." This close, every syllable he uttered was as if he caressed my skin with his words. But he still hasn't moved, and I figured it was time for some more frankness.

"Casavir?" I lifted my head and met his eyes, half-hid behind their lids, with all the azure-and-silver fire of the world in them, it seemed. "I suspect we need to get going with those stands pretty soon if we want to finish unpacking before supper so…Just kiss me, will you?"


	42. New Dress

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

_**--I know that there was a longer wait than usual, sorry; I am having way too much fun with my newly acquired Poser 7. **__**J**__** Here is the new chapter, though, and there will be plenty of plot development in the very next one, including the return of the Inquisition some of you were wondering about!--**_

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections. It really helps me to get better, so please feel free to leave a review. Thanks for all of those who have already done so—you guys are great!**

**There is language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things. **

**For this chapter I used three soundtrack pieces as background music: **_**Cows /NewDress/ My Crew**_** from the soundtrack of **_**Firefly; Coronation Banquet**_** from the soundtrack of the movie **_**Elizabeth**_**; and **_**Cora**_** from the **_**Last of the Mohicans**_** soundtrack.**

**And the usual wishful thinking: I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… The Pendwyr girl is entirely my fault, though. ****J**

**Chapter Forty-Two: New Dress**

"No, actually the people who supposed to be sticking to the old man like a tick are only Shandra, Elanee, Qara and myself." Neeshka grinned. "Remember that planning meeting last night?"

Indeed I did. The idea was also Neeshka's, and we all had to grudgingly admit that it was brilliant in its daring simplicity. I shuddered at the thought of how that might reflect on her heists as a thief… I still remembered some episodes from her rivalry with Leldon and how that ended in a rather messy and unpleasant way that resulted in her deciding it was not worth keeping up with her old profession after all. What exactly she _wanted_ to do was not clear either, but for now, she was content with sticking with me and our merry little band, and I appreciated that, even though I was determined to find out what her heart's desire to get from life really was.

"Yes, Neesh." I straightened my towel wrapped around me and sat down. "Since everyone perceives old Lord Tavorick as an ardent admirer of young and pretty ladies, it will raise only a few eyebrows if he's constantly in the company of one of you. Or several, for that matter." I added after a brief pause.

We were in my room, freshly scrubbed and hair still slightly damp, our ball gowns and all accessories hung and draped over every imaginable surface, grouped together by person. It made sense to do this here: mine was the largest of the rooms and the only one with a bathroom instead of just the large one down the hall. Now I understood the need for a large staff at mansions like this; the heating and carrying of all the hot water we needed for our baths alone required several of the maids, and I didn't even think about the other guests arriving earlier in the morning who were housed in the other wing. The mansion was, to use Qara's phrase from earlier, 'bustling with activity'. She reverted with considerable speed to her refined speech pattern she almost shed while working at the _Flagon_, and threw herself with surprising enthusiasm into the preparations. That, unfortunately, included her and Grobnar finding a bunch of blastglobes in one of the storage cellars when accompanying Ballard's men when we were placing the last wards around the house as instructed by the Nine. Of course, Sand had to inform me about this using his most sarcastic tones that set almost everyone's teeth at edge. Nevertheless, we hurried over to the room where those two were bending over the dusty crates discussing whether they should pry them open, both convinced that they could handle the ensuing inferno.

That _didn't_ go down well, but a joined diplomatic effort from the rest of us (apart from Bishop, who just suggested we use them for fireworks in the gardens to signal the start of the ball season, because that's 'traditional', earning an appreciative smile from the sorceress) managed to convince them to merely consider using them _if_ something actually happened.

"_And since the theme of decoration for this ball happens to be 'rustic charm'…" Grobnar trilled, his watery blue eyes alight with enthusiasm as he carefully tapped a finger on the topmost of the crates, "…there should be no problem placing these in plain sight wherever we want them. They should blend right in with the stacks of hay and the cart they rolled into the reception hall an hour ago. Just put a linen cloth over them with some candles and melted wax, and they should look rather like in that tavern in Shieldmeet where I once…"_

"_**Non-lit**__ candles." I said, very firmly. "Those blastglobes are thirty years old. I don't care if the highborn want to play dress-up or what, but I do care about not blowing up the man we're supposed to protect, if it's all the same to you."_

"_Um, sure." Grobnar backed up a little. "Are you all right, Arrighan? You seem to be a bit…distraught."_

"_Yeah, I bet." Bishop just managed to scowl and leer at the same time; quite a feat. "Maybe if you ask the other paladin he could relax her a little? Or maybe that's exactly the problem…"_

"_Bishop, please." I said tiredly. "Contrary to what you might think, I have other things to worry about than jumping down anyone's pants right now. In case you haven't noticed, we have a ball season opening we need to make sure everyone survives, pending possible infernal attack on the host." I looked around at my companions and noticed Neeshka rolling her eyes elbowing Casavir, who shot a completely aloof and yet amused look at her. I could almost hear their unsaid words in my head perfectly: "She's got him with that, huh?" "Indeed."_

"_All right, are we done here?" I clapped my hands. "Nar, if you'd assist Captain Ballard's men to move these to the hall entrance as 'mood decoration' very carefully, I'd be grateful. Then let Qara know their position; in case we need to, she could insure they are lit rather fast." The sorceress nodded, with pursed lips; she looked even younger than her eighteen years now, ready to play with what she knew best. "Everyone, memorize the location of those 'rustic props' so strategically placed near the hall entrances; if we need to, those quickly can turn into barricades." I flashed a smile towards Captain Ballard who was included in our last briefing. "Including those haycarts was a strike of genius, captain."_

"_Thank you, ma'am." He bowed stiffly. "Truth to tell, it was Finn's idea, based on what we're told about how the theme of the event was set up."_

"_You and your men are a great asset to us, captain, and I thank you." I returned the bow. "And now, let's have everyone head upstairs and start to get ready. Gentlemen, if I may beg of you the courtesy of a close shave for this evening? " _

Elanee could sometimes come eerily close to mindreading; she touched my arm with a faint smile on her face as she picked up a hairbrush.

"You were thinking about whether Bishop ended up shaving, hm? " She laughed softly at my shocked expression and continued. "No, I wasn't using any special druidic power or elven secret lore, dear; we were talking about that last briefing and your face is rather transparent as far as emotions are concerned, for those who can read it. You were running through the last conversation in your mind, with that peculiar frown of your forehead and nose you always have when talking to the ranger. Quite like smelling something unpleasant, and really rather amusing." She started to brush my hair with long, even strokes.

"I most certainly don't do that." I exclaimed, but Elanee just looked at me and smiled in return while Neeshka, Shandra and Qara all said that the same time:

"You do too!"

"Well, crap." I said, hanging my head. "Better watch my face then." I lifted my head, hesitantly. "Am I really that easy to read?" _Because_, I added to myself silently, _that might cause some problems later…_

"You were never taught to hide what you feel." Elanee said softly. "I don't think your training included that. I wouldn't think any paladin's would. But you might find it useful sometimes if you allowed your non-human side to guide you in this."

"What do you mean?" I asked, confused.

"Celestials don't feel like humans do, Arrighan." She laid the brush down and shook her head; I had to remember, again, that she wasn't human herself. "I am by no means intimately familiar with the higher planes," she continued, noticing my slightly surprised expression, "… but it is inevitable during the long lifespan of an elf to acquire information. And my Circle wasn't as isolated as some might think." She very rarely mentioned the other druids of her Order she's lost; I sat up and paid attention. "Because they are at one of the extremes of a spectrum, celestials rarely understand the feelings, concerns, or passions of the denizens of the Prime Plane. As a druid, I am sworn to keep Balance. Standing in the middle, I had to study both ends of that line so I understand our tenets better. If you allow yourself to have that side of yours come to the surface from time to time, I believe you'll find it helps you to control your emotions more. I am sure your teacher taught you some meditation techniques you need for prayer, but those are of your Order. This particular gift…"she said and touched my face where the marks of the god were ever so faintly but permanently etched around my eyes "… is part of the heritage in your blood. Learn to use it, and you might find it helps."

"That makes sense." I said tentatively, twisting my brushed hair up into its usual knot.

"No, better just leave it down." Elanee looked at me frowning in thought, then just shook her head. "Or at least not too severe. Remember, the ball's theme is rural and rustic." She made a face. "Let's comply, shall we?"

"There's nothing rural or rustic about _that_ dress." I pointed where my gown hung over the huge wardrobe. "Did you notice it comes with _three_ underskirts?"

"And one of them shows its lace under the hem." Shandra leaned towards me, her fine silver-blonde hair brushed so well it almost flew around her head. "Therefore, it's rustic. Trust me."

"Is that it?" I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "How about yours?"

"Oh, ours was not made by _Maître_ Cirstandeor." Qara said dismissively. "We have the rustic charm much more heavy-handed. Laced bodice, puffed white sleeves, that kind of thing. I even have an apron. Ha, ha, ha."

"So…this is really that big of a deal." I eyed my gown with some distrust.

"Yes, _paladin_, it is that big of a deal." Qara snorted. I looked at her with narrowed eyes: that sounded too much like one of Bishop's lines. Just _how_ much time she spent with the ranger recently? "The _Maître_ is Lord Nasher's personal couturier, he came from Cormyr where he was apprenticed to one of the royal court's designers. I know my mother would have given an arm and a leg to get one of his creations, but he doesn't work for anyone outside Nasher and the Nine, except once in a decade or something." She lowered her voice. "Aribeth de Tylmarande was one of the last ladies he ever designed for, I heard. "

I glanced at the rest of my companions quickly and they didn't say anything. While we all knew Qara was originally from one of the Blacklake families—Sand vaguely mentioned her father teaching at the Academy—the exact history of how she chose to completely cut herself off and decide on being the willful independent young sorceress, still wasn't entirely clear to us. All the more surprising that she came with us and elected to participate in this mission, as it would expose her to some people she surely knew before.

"Anyhow." I stood up and stretched. "Chatting is all fine and good, but we can't just spend time in all towels and stuff. Time to get this over with." I took a deep breath. "Now: what do I start with?"

It was with much giggling and remarks such as 'hey, where does THIS go?' and 'I can't believe I am actually wearing this' that we accomplished at least the first part of getting ready. Smallclothes for formal occasions, according to Qara and Shandra, involve a lot of lace and silk. As they were the ones responsible for acquiring this part of the supplies, and as I was the one who delegated it to them, I couldn't quite complain about what they picked. And in my, granted, limited experience, Amnian lace was finer than Cormyran anyway. The stockings and garters really made me giggle; but once I fixed up the thigh sheath of the dagger on my right leg, I got some of my self-assurance back.

That lasted until it was time for the corsets.

Apparently, corsets can only be properly donned if one stands straight with the thing already on, while another person standing behind, pulls steadfastly on the lacings on the back, while the suffering subject grabs whatever surface is available for the gripping and tries not to kick the helper in sheer agony. This, as I was told by Shandra after she picked herself up from the floor and we all made sure she did not have anything broken, was the proper way and she really didn't get why I was so 'sensitive' about it.

"Sensitive?" I was rather incensed. "Sensitive? I am trying to breathe here!" I peered down on my chest. "And look at this! This is…scandalous! I ain't…"

"_Am not_." Shandra corrected me with a lifted finger. "Don't even start slipping back to your West Harbor brogue right now, do you hear me?" She nodded towards Elanee. "Do you see _her_ complaining? Do you see her kicking Neeshka? And she's a wood elf, with even less opportunity to wear a dress in her past than you. And I haven't even laced you up half as tight like my mom told me to." she added, defiantly smoothing her hair back behind her ear. "I am aware that you are not used to this, but you're a paladin and a warrior and all of that. A little discomfort…" She shrugged. "Just think about it as armor."

"If you all would just stop mothering me… " I muttered darkly. "And that's just it: armor, right next to my skin, Shan? I'll be dying by the end of the first hour." I smoothed down the lace trimming on top. "What is under all of this silk and lace, anyway? Steel plates?"

"It's whalebone, I am told." Neeshka chimed in. "C'mon, Rig, stop whining. It will be fun, and it's only for a couple of hours."

"Fun." I shook my head. "I don't think that word means what you think it means in this case, Neesh. We're supposed to do serious bodyguarding, and to do that in this… thing…"

"Honey, it's me who'll be stuck with an old man who smells like boiled cabbage and has a tendency to pinch body parts I normally chop fingers off for." Neeshka said, a bit testily. "You and Casavir, in the meantime, will be hobnobbing with the cream of nobility."

"While discreetly checking them for possible demonic influence." I said, equally testily. "Neesh, I will be working just as much as you will, so there's no point arguing about it. We accepted this assignment. And you'll get paid handsomely, too." I looked at Shandra. "Are you really sure I am supposed to be having this much of cleavage?"

"Yes, you'll be fine." She looked me up and down with critical eyes and grinned. "Yes, just fine." Neeshka snickered and Shandra gently smacked her upside the head. " Hush, you; not everyone is built petite like you, okay?" She clapped her head. "Well, let's finish fixing up everyone's hair, and then we can start of shaking ourselves into our gowns."

Qara was right; the 'creation' of the old master tailor was indeed several cuts above what they were wearing, and, truth to tell, I would have been is silent awe even by those dresses a couple of months ago.

"Don't fret, Rig, we didn't pay a dime for these. All courtesy of the Neverwinter government…" Neeshka winked at me as she adjusted her skirt. "I never thought I'd be working for them, you know? Things I do for my friends…" She grinned. Her dark green gown had an embroidered little slit in the back for her tail… I kept wondering where such things could be gotten, and whether I really wanted to know such place. "See, all four of us wear matching green and white, so we all look irresistible and harmless when we surround Tavorick. It's all going to work out." She reached for one of my underskirts, carefully draped over a chair. "All right, it's your turn."

It took three of them to ease all the skirts and the gown on me; the arrangement of the ruffles on the skirt and the delicate lace around the collar (which, I still maintained, had _nothing_ to do with being rustic or pastoral) required quite some time. It was the first item of clothing I wore since I was little that left my arms completely bare, excepting the little sleeves that I was really grateful for, covering my shoulder-marks. Despite reassurances from my companions, I was rather aware of the fact that from long years of fighting I was anything but delicate or petite; sword practice cultivates long sinewy muscles that shift under the skin with every tiny movement. Yet again I had to realize that I looked, or moved, or behaved nothing like a courtly dama.

As pretty much everyone was fussing and arranging around me, we barely heard the knock on the door.

Neeshka ran to answer it, hitching up her skirts in a most unladylike fashion, her matching green stockings exposed to the knee. I could see her opening the door just a fraction, then, grin slowly spreading on her face, she turned back towards us and mouthed silently: "_It's Casavir_!"

I desperately waved my hands at her, mouthing just as silently: "_Noooo…_"

"Tell him she needs more time!" hissed Elanee, kneeling at my ankle, busy with ruffles. "And tell him to _stop_ hovering, I could _feel_ him there for quite a while!" she added. I colored a little; so _that_ was the slight uncertainty tinged with anticipation I faintly felt growing in me in the last minutes. Yet again, I picked up on his emotions. "Someone might see him… I _don't _know, tell him to go and beat up Bishop or something. We will let him know when her ladyship is ready."

"Um…he says he'd like to talk to Rig before she's ready." Neeshka informed us, still refusing to open the door more than a fraction. "No, sorry, can't come in, ladies' stuff everywhere." she said to the door airily.

"Well tell him I'll see him as soon as we're done." I think I stomped my legs, narrowly avoiding Elanee's fingers. She was using some kind of spell for finishing up my hemline at just the right height. "Sorry El." I added towards her apologetically. "I need to talk to him anyways about the proper entrance and whatever." I glanced at Neeshka. "Please, Neesh, if you would?"

She stuck out her tongue at me than performed a perfect curtsy and, still grinning from ear to ear, turned back to the door and started whispering urgently, presumably about what I asked her.

Presumably.

I was still fuming over the neckline.

"So you all are in favor of this thing basically exposing me halfway through my chest?" I asked, somewhat sullen.

Shandra chuckled while adjusting said neckline one more time.

"No, stupid, we are girls. Your paladin out there now, _he_ would. Enthusiastically, I might add."

I gave up. Really, there was no point in clinging to dignity's tattered shards when these four, apparently, had figured everything out.

"Whatever." I didn't say that often since I passed the 'being a teenager' phase (that was cut short anyway thanks to being raised by Daeghun and taught by Aevan, two of the most no-nonsense men I've known), but right now it felt really appropriate. I even added the requisite shrug. "Now if you all are done with fussing over me, since you seem to be all decked out and ready, I don't mean to be rude, but it seems that my fellow paladin has some last minute briefing to do."

"Ah, the work of a leader is never done." Qara smirked. I was really glad that she got over the sulking about Duncan and Shandra and most of the time was even reasonably cheerful. I wasn't sure how I was supposed to deal with a depressed sorceress for much longer. It seemed, however, that this adventure was just the thing she needed. And as long as she knew how to control her temper, I was glad to have her along. Although lately she really was rather polite to everyone, and that was starting to get a bit suspicious. But, as I had slightly bigger things to worry about than the mood swings of an under-twenty girl, I decided not to get too worried about it.

As they filed out, with a loud swishing of their skirts (the sound silk makes when sliding over even more silk forever afterwards reminded me of this evening), wrapped in scent clouds of rose, orange flower, jonquil and lavender, Shandra grinned widely, gave a last, careful peck on the cheek and pointed to the corner where the objects I steadfastly tried to ignore all the time while getting ready were waiting forlorn, in their soft blue velvet coverings.

"And don't forget those, Arrighan; you don't want to get to the ball barefoot."

"Hells." I muttered as she sashayed out (I had no idea the farm girl could do that). "It's a rustic ball, I just might. I'll be damned if I wear _those_."

"And what are _those_, my lady?" With cautiously raised eyebrows, Casavir closed the door behind him and looked around as if he was afraid something would bite in my room.

"Oh." I was busy trying to extract the two velvet-wrapped things from said corner and realized it would not work what with the corset and silks and underrufles in the way. "I am trying to…" I gave up the effort to bend or squat or do anything else but just stand there carefully (more of less). "It's these shoes they gave me with the dress, Casavir… there is no way I am going to wear them, and that's final." I nudged them with my toes. "I mean, if I could _bend_ and get them I could show you…they got _heels_." I carefully turned (maneuvering in this dress was like steering a ship, really) and smiled at him. "And I am just not going to do that to your feet while dancing."

"It would be fine." He smiled back. "Like I said, I've got new boots for this occasion."  
"Well, so did I." I was more than grateful to him for not commenting on my dress. I think I would have died of embarrassment if he did. He probably picked up on that too, and decided to play it safe. I didn't blame him, really—I literally felt like certain parts of me were on display, like a ship's tall prow rising above the deep blue sea. _What_ possessed me to agree to this whole ruse of protecting Tavorick during his ball while at the same time participating in it? I had less and less idea the more we got closer to the start of the evening.

I inclined my head towards in front of the bed where my brand new shining boots were lined up where I put them before I rushed off to bathe.

"You see, right now the problem is, I can't even get them off the floor, let alone put them on…" It occurred to me that he probably was no expert of this subject either. "I really should have asked Shandra before I let her go…"I made a face. "I mean, I literally cannot even sit in this…"

"It's true; we regretfully neglected to cover this in the past couple of days between dance lessons, planning and dress fitting." He raked his hand through his hair. "But I think…I think you just kind of…sink down."

"Pardon?" I looked at him with something akin to shock on my face.

"Like this. "My shock grew, as he proceeded to demonstrate, and he didn't look ridiculous in the process either. In fact…he looked rather graceful and fetching and...

"And how on Faerun did you know _that_?" I said dryly when I recovered. "_Please_ don't tell me that's included in a city paladin's curriculum, because barefoot or not, I will kick you for pulling one on a poor country girl."

He looked slightly amused.  
"Contrary to popular belief, Tyrrans do have a sense of humor, my lady, so theoretically I could have…'pulled one' on you indeed. But while novices do on occasion play pranks on each other in the chapterhouse like any young adults would, performing curtsies and sitting gracefully in a gala dress do not figure into that category." His eyes softened a bit. "We had lessons in proper court etiquette with my sister from when we were oh, about six, I reckon. One of the first things they teach young girls is, apparently, how to move around with those underskirts and corsets… that's about the age when they start to wear them, too. Lynneth is a year younger than I, we took our lessons together until I was… Called."

That was the second time since I've known him that he even mentioned his sister, and the first time by name. It surely was a sign of healing, if nothing else, and it warmed my heart. In fact, it warmed my heart a bit too much, so I had to do something about it, and fast. I could almost visualize myself melting into a puddle and that just wouldn't do.

"Hm; let me try." After a few wobbly attempts while I had to sort out the way the underskirts bunched up in interesting ways, I realized that if I kind of lifted and pulled with one hand while sinking down, and kept the balance mostly on one leg…."I think I got it." I picked up the shoes, shook them out of their velvet coverings and held them up by their heels with two fingers. "Now, would you look at _this_?"

"Well, they do match your dress. "he deadpanned; he seemed relentlessly logical about it, but I caught a twitch of his mouth.

"Casavir, I am a paladin of Tyr. I am _not_ wearing these." I shook my head. "And that's final. There is no way I can walk on those heels." I lifted a finger and said, using my best argumentative tones. "As I cannot endanger the safety of our ward by rendering myself unable to move—and even wearing this dress hinders me considerably, not to mention corsets and such—I see nothing wrong with wearing my brand spanking new boots for the ball." He wanted to say something, but I shook my head. "They are nice, black and made of best-quality leather." Another breath, another of my fingers went up, stopping him. "I barely wore them twice. For dance lessons, so they are broken in." I flicked those blue abominations into a corner with a motion of my wrist and marched (fine, _steered_) to my bed, sank down, picked up the boots… and just stood there, frozen in place. "Oh, _crap_."

"Is there ought amiss, my lady?" he asked. I turned and I probably had a rather helpless expression on my face.

"Well yes, yes, there is, _my lord_… If I can't even bend in this blasted gown, how am I supposed to put these boots on??"

"Hm. Can I offer a solution?" He seriously tried to keep his straight, normal, everyday face, but the way the little wrinkles all danced around the corner of his eyes, I knew he was really trying not to break out in that grin of his that was so rare and yet which made him look like he was ten years younger at least.

"Oh; would you help me, then?" I must admit I was so relieved I even forgot the usual rules Retta tried to beat into me back in West Harbor. I just sank down to sit on the low chair in front of the dress mirror we used earlier in turns with the girls to fix each other's hair and stuck my feet out, carefully lifting the skirt, underskirt, ruffles and all to the knee.

"This is as much movement as I can do, so it would really be most appreciated." I quickly recalled: yes, this wasn't the first time I bared my legs to him. Granted, the circumstances were utterly different. The faint scar of that ugly wound stretching from my lower shin across the side of my thigh to almost to my hip reminded me of our first meeting in the Sword Mountains. He healed that one, after I used my own powers to fix up Khelgar's skull wound. The sight of my bare shins should not have been particularly new to him, really. Besides, instead of being bare and splotched in blood, they had perfectly respectable silk stockings on them, too. I squirmed a bit to carefully adjust my ruffles and smoothed my skirt down. "And in the meantime, you can tell me about that last minute thing we need to discuss."

"The last minute thing…?" With a raised eyebrow, he took the boots out of my hands.

"Well, I am assuming there is a reason for you to see me before the ball starts; some review of last minute strategy or get the entrance rehearsed?" I said lightly. "Since I can hardly believe you merely wanted to get into my room, right?"

_Yes, unfortunately_… my human side snickered, as my celestial side watched in horror the blush spreading on Casavir's face yet again. It was still a mystery to me: in one second he was full of confidence and poise and grace, and the next he just kind of fell apart and became like a sixteen-year-old Ilmaterite monk-in-training.

"Sorry." I said quickly to salvage some of the situation. "My country lass side is fully out this evening, apparently; must be the rustic setting of the ball." I wriggled my toes in my stockings and looked up at him. "So what was it?"

"I wish I could be as comfortable around you as you are around me." he blurted out, still half-red in the face. "I… I find this very difficult, my lady."

_Honesty and openness, I greet thee_…Again, my West Harbor side surfaced with a snicker that was mirrored on my face with a lopsided grin.

"Sorry… I told you from the beginning, I was no courtly dama or perfectly mannered chapterhouse-raised paladin. You can teach me new tricks, and I am really ready to learn, but underneath it all, I will be always the same girl with the bruised knees who climbed trees and comforted crying children in the dark." I sighed. "I will work hard not to embarrass you, Sir Grayson or Lord Nasher this evening, I promise."  
"Oh, I reckon Nasher wouldn't mind if you'd embarrassed some of the more…hm… rigid and unbending members of court." That sounded unusually bitter from him; then I remembered those whispers of nobles around me while at my first audience at Castle Never, the looks I was given at my trial by some of the noble lords and ladies; Sand's words about how all of this was mostly circus and entertainment and games for them, and I understood it a bit better. "Most of them haven't interacted with real people for decades, anyway." He frowned. "I wish we had more time to review the members of the Council and the more important Guild leaders in attendance today, but…"

"Well, we have time now." I pointed out, and looked at him expectantly. "Putting my boots on would not take that much time, and I assume we need to talk about some other things as well. " I was really getting the feeling he was trying to dodge my question about the real reason he showed up; slight streaks of nervousness in ochre trembled in his aura.

"Come on, out with it!" I said, tapping the floor with my foot. "Something's bothering you."

"Not so much bothering, no, but…" There was that nervous hair-raking gesture again; if he kept going like this, despite the fact that he kept his hair military-short, it will look like a haystack by the time the ball started. "I am just… strangely reluctant to face possible rejection in this."

"Hmm?" I felt both of my eyebrows going up. "Something I can help with?"

He took a deep breath, and I saw determination setting his jaws like right before we went to battle.

"I am probably, yet again, overthinking this, my lady, but…This ball…despite its 'rustic and pastoral' theme, is still a high society event." He reached into his doublet, and pulled out a slender, narrow box made of rich but faded oxblood leather. "It has occurred to me that while all of the ladies who'll be present have jewelry of some sort, you probably never had the opportunity to acquire some, and during our preparations, we just never got around that part." He shrugged. "This was… part of the few things I took to Hassim the merchant for safekeeping when I left Neverwinter ten years ago. It was mine by right as my mother left them to me instead of my sister, so it is mine to give." The slow, hesitant smile that lit up his face was, yet again, almost heartbreaking. "Would you do me the honor to wear these tonight, my lady? You really don't have to accept them if you don't want to." He hastened to add as he pressed the open box in my unresisting fingers. "I mean… this is probably more forward of me than…"

"No, it's fine…"My voice sounded a bit hollow; he stopped it mid-sentence. "It's just…"I swallowed.

There was a pair of earrings, a necklace and a small hair ornament in the box; the color of the sapphires set in the exquisite mithril filigree matched the blue of my gown with almost eerie perfection. Small, delicate and understated, the workmanship was so beautiful, that I could just stare with breath caught in my throat for a long time.

"I know that polite people would find a nice was to refuse this now." I whispered when I finally found the words. I knew he was holding his breath, too, waiting for me to get around to what I really wanted to say; it seemed Tyrran precision got the better of me again. "They would find the perfect way of telling you that this is an excessively generous gift on top of everything you already gave me. There is probably an entire etiquette book on politely refusing gifts from nonrelatives somewhere in every Neverwinter noble's library." I looked up at him. "When I have my own library one day, I'll be sure to get a copy. But since I am not bound by such constraints, having been made part of the nobility only very recently, being generally uncouth and unrefined, or, shall we say, 'rural and rustic', and, most of all, recognizing the spirit and intent of the gift given…"I rose from where I sat (it was easy even in my stockings, really, as we were almost equal in height) and breathed a kiss of thanks on his cheek. "I accept, and gladly so. It will be an honor to wear these in the memory of your mother."


	43. Paladin Waltz

-1**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections. It really helps me to get better, so please feel free to leave a review. Thanks for all of those who have already done so—you guys are great!**

**There is language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things. **

**For this chapter I used: _Going For A Ride _from the soundtrack of the movie _Serenity_; _Overture _by Patrick Doyle from his music for the movie _Much Ado About Nothing_; and _Emperor Waltz _by Johann Strauss from the _New Year's Concert in Vienna _album of 2008.**

**And the usual wishful thinking: I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… The Pendwyr girl is entirely my fault, though. J**

**Chapter Forty-Three: Paladin Waltz**

I knew it was unnecessary fussing, but I insisted on completing one last check of the wards before the first guests started to arrive. Sand caught up with me with a bemused expression on his face, wearing a stunning silk robe ensemble and a matching ribbon in his hair, and added a few of his own incantations "just in case", while acknowledging that the ones we set up were already strong enough.

"Now, dear girl, I've always maintained that against the denizens of the Lower Planes your Order is rather well equipped." he said as we passed the last ward, discreetly set over the back doorway of the Great Hall. "And the Halls of Justice were most generous in providing you with these. I am just making sure that whatever, shall we say, _alternate _angles exist besides sacred defense, are covered."

"You forgot more about magic theory, Sand, than I've ever known." I shrugged, steering my skirt around a table. "I have no pretensions or delusions of grandeur in this regard. I am, in fact, grateful. "

The staff was finishing their frantic scurrying around the huge buffet table; I stared at an enormous crystal bowl full of ripe strawberries for about ten seconds before I realized I was doing it.

"You are quite a sight, dear girl." Sand tapped my shoulder. "If I may point out, that look on your face should be reserved to someone else in private, not for everyone in this hall. Especially not just for seeing _fruit_, however appetizing they might be."

"But Sand!" I frowned. "It's Yule season! And those are… fresh strawberries!" I was almost appalled how he could just treat that as it was a perfectly ordinary thing.

"Yes, and this is _Neverwinter_." He sighed, exasperated by this fresh evidence of my country origins. "There are at least a dozen public and many more private gardens with those growing in them specifically for the ball season. I know dabblers in matters arcane who are paid quite handsomely to magically enhance the weather just in certain locations or keep balmy currents of the river moving towards certain areas of the city this time of the year." He frowned. "Weather magic was never my specialty, but if matters turn grave, your friend Elanee might find some lucrative employment in that direction. Just in case, you understand."

"Not sure Elanee would be for city living." I said, finally tearing my gaze from the strawberries. I figured once the ball started, I can always acquaint myself with some of them more closely. After all, I'll be one of the guests, right?

"There goes another one of those looks, dear." Sand warned again, this time with a wry grin on his face.

"Sorry." I said sheepishly. "I'll try to think about something aloof and dignified and paladin-y instead."

"An excellent idea; I think one of Oleff's sermons will suffice quite nicely." the wizard quipped, and I suppressed a chuckle. "If everything seems to be in order for you here, dear girl, we might as well go back upstairs until it's time to make our appearance—I believe two of those charmingly rustic soldiers are supposed to guard Lord Tavorick until he comes down, but I would like to take over as soon as possible before he comes down to greet his guests."

"You're right, Sand. "I sighed. We decided to stick Tavorick with Sand and Neeshka for the first time of the evening—they were both exotic enough that they'll raise some eyebrows and there'd be gossip, but not too much, at least until the other ladies and gentlemen of my merry little band showed up. Then there _will _be gossip, guaranteed. I was beginning to think that Nasher was counting on upsetting quite a number of people this evening… and, as I completed that thought, I had a horrible suspicion waking in me—enough to stop be dead on my tracks on our way out of the hall and up the stairs.

"What is it, child?" Sand put a hand on my arm. "I must admit you've got one of the most expressive faces I've ever seen, and believe me, I've seen a lot. Now you look like you bit into a lemon when you expected one of those favorite chocolates of yours."

"This whole rustic and rural setting, Sand." I said slowly, turning my head and looking at him. "Whose idea was it, do you know?"

"Now why would you ask that question from me…" he started, but I saw his guilty little blink for a fraction of a second, and I knew I was right.

"Tyr's paladins are trained to look for signs of guilt, you know." I smiled, a bit bitter. "I am assuming this little idea was whispered into the right ears to whisper into Tavorick's ears? And you knew about it? As the agent of the Crown?"

"Erm." I haven't seen Sand squirming yet; now he did. I assumed my gaze intensified a little bit when I got emotional. "The idea was that in these surroundings some of your and your company's ehm… less polished qualities might stand out less."

At least he didn't try to deny it any more.

"I am sorry." He shook his head. "This was one of those 'need to know' things Nevalle insisted on. He felt this way everyone could… act more natural."

"And he didn't think enough of me to have me figure it out." My mouth felt a bit sour. "I understand the necessity, Sand, and believe me, I am not mad at you. I just thought… we deserved more trust than this." With that I lifted my skirts and hurried away, sending a fervent prayer to the seven archons so I don't trip up while running up the stairs to my room.

I thought it highly unlikely that whoever was behind this would attack at the ball, with the best of Neverwinter attending, including some of the Nine. However, something told me that right after the guests leave, the wee hours of the morning, the ones Daeghun used to call 'the hours of the wolf'… that was a different matter entirely. All the more Nevalle's casual application of that military principle I hated the most hurt me.

Resolved to do what I was asked to, while trying not to look like I was performing my duty, I settled down to the hardest part of the evening--waiting. We had to time this carefully: as the guests were arriving, only Sand and Neeshka were supposed to be already there, with Tavorick. The rest of us had to arrive separately, but still ahead of Lord Nasher. Indeed it felt like a carefully planned military operation, and even the music starting to waft up from downstairs couldn't ease my tension. I sat very carefully on my backless little low chair, holding my priceless copy of Ertorian romances in my hand, _not _in my lap, so it didn't wrinkle my dress. After a while, realizing I didn't understand a single sentence I've read, put it down, stood up and picked up the fancy little thing Qara dropped on my dressing table when they all were here. It was shaped like a small book and hung from a lace loop.

"_A dance card." Qara explained earlier to all of us. "See, there are these little pieces of parchment inside? You're supposed to write down who you're dancing with…"_

"_Huh?" Neeshka wrinkled her nose. "Write down with what, firehair?"_

"_There will be side tables aplenty, with little inkwells and quills, tail-for-brains." Qara pouted. "It's a rather boring collection of dances, though…" She flicked through the pages. "Except the first one… ooh, yes, they even had a special piece written to the occasion." She turned to me, grinning. "I suppose you feel comfortable enough in your waltzing skills by now, yes?"_

"_I think so." I eyed the page cautiously. "What, they dedicated this one to Lord Nasher? Do they think he will actually…?"_

"_He traditionally opens the season himself." Qara shrugged. "Of course, it's normally a pavane, but this year, it seems, they made a concession to fashion over tradition."_

"_You mean… Nasher will… waltz?" Neeshka's eyebrows went all the way up, and she giggled. "For real?"_

Yes, that image took some time getting used to. Especially since Qara explained that the Ruler of Neverwinter only did this once a year, and that dozens of high society beauties were quite willing to kill for the privilege of being his dance partners, if only for a couple of minutes. I failed to see how anyone could be so excited over the prospect, but Qara assured me that Nasher actually treated these occasions as part of the big political maneuvering to assure the Great Houses and occasional visiting notables remained placated and happy. I kept wondering just how much her family was involved in these political games--probably heavily, given that her parents was teaching at the Academy.

I flipped through the pages of the dance card, yet again checking if I indeed was familiar with all thee steps of the dances they listed… then shrugged; figured if I wasn't sure about one or two, I just stick by the buffet table and observe the crowd for signs of possible trouble, in the company of some strawberries. That prospect made me a bit less nervous, and made it easier to smile when finally Casavir showed up to let me know that about half of the guests arrived, Sand and Neeshka were sticking to Tavorick as close as was possible in public, and Ballard's men reported that Lord Nasher's carriage and his entourage had been spotted by runners on the road and was about half an hour away.

"Which is perfect timing." he explained as we descended the stairs and took the turn towards the hall doors where a steady stream of guests was already lined up in front of the majordomo of the house, a stiff-necked creature of extreme age who nevertheless possessed a powerful voice as he announced each guest. "Will give us just enough time for one circuit of the room before he arrives and the official part of the ball starts."

"The things I do for you, Korranos." I muttered and earned a quick half-smile. "Just try not to introduce me to too many people. I am horrible with names, especially under pressure."

"You do fine under pressure." He squeezed my hand resting on his arm. "You always did. This is just a different type of battle, my lady."

"The worst one of all." I eyed the majordomo with growing distrust. "I barely know the rules."

"The rules are simple." He was infinitely patient with me, and I well knew it. I honestly didn't know why he hasn't screamed out of frustration yet. "Keep smiling, tell to all the ladies their dress is 'charming' or 'lovely', don't discuss politics, eat only in small bites, if you don't recognize the food, don't take it…and please spare my toes when dancing."

I stopped and regarded him with a steely gaze.

"Did you just make another jest?"

"I am honored beyond belief that you noticed." He bowed, with that self-mocking little smile on his lips that was rare but which definitely suited him more that the moody scowl I've associated with him in the first weeks of knowing him.

"I might _just_ enjoy this evening if you keep that up. " I sighed. "Oh, and to be fair: there is a big bowl of strawberries in that room that I might just be irresistibly drawn to at some point this evening." I looked around and leaned closer to him. "I might need your help to create some diversion so high society doesn't notice Squire Pendwyr ate half of what was supposed to be for the entire shindig."

"I appreciate the advance warning." He nodded in all seriousness. "And, as you well know, you can always count on me to watch your back, my lady." I felt my cheeks color a bit at that, remembering our conversation at the Mask.

"Brother Korranos and Sister Pendwyr. Why am I not surprised to see you here?" The clipped, precise words came from right behind us.

Casavir tensed as he turned; by extension, I turned with him, carefully maneuvering my skirts around.

"Mother Superior." he said, inclining his head stiffly. "Brothers and Sisters..." The Inquisitor was escorted by two men and women who looked suitably formal and grim for a funeral, definitely out of place at a ball.

"Perhaps we'll get a chance to talk." Mother Hadewiga's smile was like the edge of a knife. "Although I am sure you will be… busy." She was wearing an almost utilitarian dark cloud-grey gown, high-necked and stiffly laced, with the triple strand of pearls about her neck matching the color of the velvet. All her companions had the same grey-black color scheme, with starched white lace collars.

"We'd be delighted, Mother Superior." I nodded, returned the smile with equal coldness and turned away. "Until then, though, I trust you will enjoy the ball?"

I really wasn't as sure of myself as perhaps that sentence suggested, but I decided I'd be damned if I let the Inquisitor of Waterdeep see any of my discomfort.

We stepped in front of the majordomo, and I felt like all of a sudden the entire world's eyes were on me.

"The Lord Casavir Korranos of Tyr and Squire Arrighan Pendwyr of Tyr!" The pompous man probably got hired for his voice: the announcement rang out under the old hall's carved vaults like a whip crack. Technically it was said exactly the same way, with the same pitch and timbre as all the previous ones, and still, for some reason, I felt it was so much louder. I gave a little shake of my head at the thought: this was, indeed, just another battle, to be sure, fought on a different ground, but the stakes were high. I let my celestial side to take over for this: with head high and hand lightly resting on Casavir's arm, we walked down the stairs, into the middle of Neverwinter's elite.

I don't think it was an exaggeration to say that I felt at least a dozen pair of eyes constantly on us as we made our way to where Tavorick sat as host of the ball, flanked by Sand and Neeshka, both with innocuous smiles on their faces. A slender, brown-haired girl was sitting nearby in a richly decorated blue-and-white dress. Her face was vaguely familiar.

"Milord." I inclined my head, and got a wry grin from the old man, wearing another of his vividly purple outfits, this time with antique white lace collar and cuffs about three inch wide.

"Look at you both; no one would tell you spend your days in plate armor hacking at monsters. You even look like you like each other." He chuckled. "So, my dear squire: you certainly had your companions make an impression on my guests." Neeshka winked at that and leaned forward excitedly.

"Wow, Rig, nice set of jewels there!" She waved a hand at me and I unselfconsciously touched the fine mithril filigree around the sapphires at my throat. " I think it's… wow, those are antiques, too! Early First dynasty, with definite elven touches, wouldn't you agree, Sand?"

"You're the expert in this, dear girl." the elf said wryly. "I'm merely a peddler in potions and occasional lawyer."

"Oh, you're so not fun." Neeshka pouted. "And imagine this: I already have four of my dances taken, too!" She tapped her little dance card and grinned. "Good thing we all decided to practice with you, huh?"

"I tried to shoo the unfortunate young ones away, but to no avail." Sand rolled his eyes. "I swear some of them have a suicide wish."

"Bah. Impossible." Tavorick patted Neeshka's hand. "Such a sweet girl, reminds me of my second wife, really. Before she ran away with the wedding jewels, and half of the wedding guests', that is."

I tried to keep a straight face at that, but failed spectacularly, especially because I caught the old lord's wink and Neeshka's answering frown.

"I believe that's what they call in Cormyr '_touché_'." Sand said slowly, examining his hands. Then he lifted his head and looked towards the entrance. "Oh, look; if I am not mistaken, there'll be a slight stir again in a minute…"

"What?" I turned, carefully again, just in time to hear the majordomo announce:

"The Lady Qara Brennick and escort!"

"I am dreaming, surely." Neeshka stood up from her chair and grabbed my arm. "Is that _Bishop _with her?"

"Well, he's surely earning his pay." I said, watching those two glide through the now significant crowd. I could only imagine, if Qara's parents or any former friends and acquaintances were present, they got scandalized enough to please the sorceress.

"Ah, this ball is already splendid, thanks to you and your charming companions, Squire." Tavorick chuckled. "And it hasn't even begun officially. Old Brennick's granddaughter is surely going to use a scandal… your enchanting tiefling friend and elven wizard associate are already talked about as my newest bed warmers…" I felt myself slightly colored by that. "I haven't felt this good in ages. Well, unless Melia here plays." He leaned forward and chucked the chin of the young woman sitting patiently next to him. "Then I feel like I am twenty-five again."

"Milord is sweet." The brown-haired girl had a soft, melodious voice: and I all of a sudden remembered where I saw her.

"I think I've met you before." I said, inclining my head.

"What, with Melia?" Tavorick waved his head, successfully distracted from elaborating on those rumors about his 'bed warmers'. "She's one of Ophala's girls from the _Mask_. Comes and visits from time to time, reminds me what it's like to have a lady in the house."

I cast a quick glance at Casavir before I smiled at Melia; he nodded slightly, as if confirming both what Tavorick said and what I remembered. Melia was the girl with the harp who played and sung "_The Lady of Shileot_" to us.

"Lovely girl, Melia." Tavorick continued in a wistful voice, speaking of her as if she wasn't even there. "Plays the harp like a songbird. I can't actually hear it, you understand, but she's wonderful to watch. Beautiful hands." I caught that faraway look in his eyes, and the way his tone changed, and I realized he slipped into one of his distant memories again. "My fourth wife had beautiful hands, come to think of it." Then, just as fast as it came, the clouds were gone from his gaze, and it became sharp as a bird's again. "Know where it got her? Scorched to a crisp, that's where."

"Scorched to a crisp?" I raised an eyebrow, carefully lowering myself to one of the backless chairs. From the corner of my eye I could see Qara and Bishop, who, of course, didn't shave, but at least put on a clean shirt and looked sober, talking to an elderly couple.

"The Lady Shandra Jerro and escort!" My companions apparently decided to go for the largest possible scandal effect today; Shandra arrived and sashayed down the stairs with a smug smile on her face and Elanee holding her arm, with her best 'aloof and unavailable Elven princess'-look.

"I _so _have to include this detail next time we do anything like this in the briefings." I measured between my teeth to Casavir who occupied the seat next to me and just watched, a bemused look in his azure eyes. "Just because the lord of the house has a reputation being something of a lecher, it doesn't mean my companions can decide to insinuate they all going to participate in an orgy later. Something like that." I shook my head in disbelief, realizing it will probably take only a few minutes for the Mother Superior to draw a picture here that decidedly was not in my favor.

Shandra and Elanee headed straight to us, beaming. I resisted the urge to groan and bury my face in my head. Instead, just forced a somewhat detached expression on my face that I hoped matched Elanee's elven superiority, and nodded in greeting.

"Quite an entrance, ladies." I swept a hand around our little company. "I think you know every one here…" both of them curtsied to Tavorick who obviously was mightily entertained at my expense by all of this, "…except, perhaps, the lovely Melia here, who, as Lord Tavorick just remarked, reminds him so of his fourth wife who was scorched to a crisp."

"That's right." Tavorick winked at Shandra, who gracefully sunk down on another overstuffed backless low chair the old lord seemed to have in abandon around him, and continued. "Thought she'd try those lovely hands at wizardry. Begs me to buy her a spellbook. Then tries to cast Explosive Runes on her own diary." Sand snorted. "Pretty girl, but not so bright. I should have kept a better eye on her." Tavorick leaned on his ornate walking stick towards Shandra conspiratorially. "Not that I didn't keep an eye on her, but it was the wrong sort of eye, if you catch my meaning."

"I'm sure you both loved each other very much - I can tell, just from the beautiful memories of pain and tragedy." Shandra said, each syllable dripping of sarcasm, almost angelic smile firmly in place.

"So, tell me," Sand inserted firmly before that got out of hand, "…what gave you two the idea to show up as…hm… companions?"

"It started with the matching gowns, of course." Elanee shrugged nonchalantly. "Then the fact that Shandra had no one to escort her, really…and since I didn't have anyone either, I figured, given how you already started the… how do you humans call it, 'rumor mill', started by assigning Sand and Neeshka to guard Lord Tavorick, we somehow felt it appropriate."

"Appropriate." I said, feeling smaller and smaller by the minute. "Um, El, you as the Lady Jerro's 'escort'?"

"Why, is Bishop more appropriate as the Lady Brennick's?" Shandra asked, defiantly. "Qara is parading him around like a purebred stallion amongst her relatives, I think she already shocked an aunt over there to fainting…" She waved a hand vaguely towards the other end of the hall. "I mean, really, you think _we _caused a stir? Try them staring at those two, or Sand and Neeshka here, even." She winked unexpectedly. "And you know, I caught some conversation snippets about you and Lord Korranos here that…"

"I think I understand, Shandra, thank you." I said quickly; I caught from the corner of my eyes a flash of somber colors amongst the colorful silks and brocades, and I turned to Tavorick. "I believe, milord, that you're about to receive an important visitor."

"Huh?" Tavorick blinked, then attempted to draw himself up to his once proud full height, as the Inquisitor of Waterdeep neared.

"Milord Tavorick." Hadewiga Brangen knew how to be all dignity and charm; she even managed a smile. "It's an honor to be invited to your ball."

"Ah, of course, of course." Tavorick was gallantry himself as he leaned over the Inquisitor's hand. "It is always an honor to have you here, Hadewiga, dear. Although I still maintain you chose the wrong calling in life and should have been my fifth wife."

Shandra choked on her drink that she took from a liveried servant passing by, but very tactfully decided not to say anything.

"I believe that probably would have been a rather short-lived marriage, Cyran." The Inquisitor forced a smile. "I get up rather early in the morning, you know." Her gaze swept around, taking all of my companions in. "And I might have objected to your passion for… collecting."

I saw Casavir's mouth press into a thin line and I figured it was for the best if I tried to intervene before he decided to be gallant and chivalrous in defense of women who could defend themselves just fine. But before I could have said something, there was another group drawing up next to Tavorick: four richly and rather extravagantly clad women, each in that indeterminable age I knew by now polite society called 'well-preserved marriageable age'.

"Milord." crooned their apparent leader; this was obviously a pack that ran together at occasions like this. The way they moved and whispered and threw looks spoke more clearly than as if they'd worn little pieces of paper announcing this. "It is such a pleasure to be here this year again."

"Ah yes, Maira, dear." Tavorick's grin was somewhat strained. "And your remarkable circle of friends. Indeed it has been quite a _long_ string of years through which I greeted you here each Yule season."

There was a brief but delicate pause until that barb, delivered with deadly accuracy sank in—I had to admit I watched Tavorick in a new light, trading these fine blows with practiced ease and not even missing a beat. He indeed had been doing this for a long time. I wasn't sure if I could keep up with what apparently was required to carry out a conversation in these circles, but I was determined to give it a try.

"And such … intriguing company this year, too." the woman called Maira glided smoothly over that momentary pause: even though it must have been painful. "Not to mention this utterly _charming_ idea about the theme of the ball…'Rustic and rural'…Where do you find such _delightful_ people, milord?" The way here eyes slid over us, I figured that was another of those remarks _my_ circles would have qualified as a slap in the face.

"My dear, this…gem of our society is Lady Maira Hawkes, widow of my dear friend Lord Hawkes's son." Tavorick leaned towards me. "The other flowers in her coterie are Lady Florisse Martill, Lady Enevere Wing, and Lady Rowena Narbryel." His bird-black eyes held mine for a second with a barely veiled warning in them. He was really quite good, when he wasn't lost in the past. "Ladies, I am sure I don't need to reintroduce you to the Lord Korranos… and likewise I am sure you've heard about the Squire Arrighan Pendwyr here." He made an expansive gesture towards Mother Superior Brangen. "Ah, and let's not forget our guests in service to our lord Tyr and the Open Lord of Waterdeep; Mother Superior Hadewiga Brangen used to live in our fair city for quite a while, mostly spending her time rebuking my advances."

I noticed he didn't go over the introduction of my other companions, and I was actually grateful for that. What he just said should have been enough for thee women to chew on sufficiently, there was no need to thrown them more meat.

Indeed it was; I could see it in the widening of their eyes, the way they fanned themselves as they curtsied towards Casavir, a little too deep perhaps. He rose and bowed over their hands with his military precision, clipped and short, then took his seat again. I noticed that as he sat down, he pulled the chair a fraction closer to me; I had to hide a grin.

"We'll see you later, Cyran." Mother Hadewiga said in cool formal tones and turned away, her nod curt to the point of being rude to the four women. "I'm sure you'll have your…hands full for the rest of the evening."

"Without your company, my dear, it will surely be duller." said Lord Tavorick, rising halfway from his chair and bowing slightly. "Seeing you brought back some memories that will surely remain with me for as long as I live."

"Flatterer." She finally laughed; startled but honest. "But you could always make me laugh, I give you that." Her gaze grew distant. "Maybe I should visit you before I return to Waterdeep. Do you still hold those tea parties?"

"For you, dear, I would even attempt to have a weekend hunt organized." Tavorick said with another of his old-fashioned little bows.

There was a definite wistful smile on the Inquisitor's face as she drifted away into the crowd, flanked by her escorts.

"Well, I hope that took the winds out of her sails a bit." Tavorick whispered to me briefly before he turned his attention back to the four women who obviously thought themselves more important than the personal envoy of Lord Piergeiron.

"Tell me: have you been enjoying the event so far…squire?" one of the women, I think it was the one called Enevere, asked me. She paused a fraction before that title, as if she wasn't sure it was right, and although her mouth was smiling, there was no mirth in her hazel eyes. "You probably laugh at us, imitating rural and rustic, while…" Another delicate pause, and I could fill that in, almost, with the unspoken '…_while you're probably still busy wiping the muck of the Mere off your boots_…'

"It's quite beautiful." I said lightly. "My duties heretofore as servant of the Even-Handed didn't allow me much socializing, though, so I don't have much to compare it to."

"Don't worry about it." Maira said in a low, conspiratorial tone and wrinkled her delicate nose. "I hate to say it, but last year's ball was much better anyway."

"Really?" I raised an eyebrow. "Milord Tavorick didn't tell me anything about it…why, what did they have last year they miss now?"

She shrugged gracefully.

"Standards, my dear."

I heard Tavorick take a sharp breath that ended in a cough, and saw Neeshka's freckles all pale in her face. That was…

That was an all-out attack, and a low one, too, and by my god, I wasn't going to just stand there taking it meekly.

"Oh, I understand that not everyone can afford a gown from Master Cirstandeor himself." I said with a little shrug and a smile straight from the icebergs of the North. "But what do you do?"

She drew back a bit from that; I heard a faint chuckle from where Shandra sat.

"You are _so_ right, my dear." Maira had an admirably fast recovery, and I was relatively new at this, so the next round was hers. "After all, not everyone has access to…such _resources_ as you." The way she unmistakably batter her eyelashes at Casavir was so blatant that I almost hissed.

"Actually…" I said instead, still keeping that light smile on my lips "…I was fortunate enough to receive the privilege of using the _maitre'_sservices from the Crown."

"Ah, I see." Maira quickly licked her carmine lips. She became nervous, and as a result of that, apparently went for the jugular. "You seem to bear the favor of Lord Nasher himself as well, then…" She made a small laughing sound. "That would be… quite an accomplishment for an _inexperienced_ young thing."

And that was exactly the wrong thing to say.

_The hells with this polished manners thing. Let's see what happens when my celestial side is allowed to be rude, for a change._

In the ensuing stillness, I slowly stood, drew myself up to my full height and, stepping so close to her that our face almost touched, allowing her to take a good close look at the faint lines of the god's marks around my eyes, said in a low, clear voice so only her and those near to her could hear.

"I've bled more for your city, lady, then you and your ancestors combined, and that includes the long-gone night you've lost your virginity, my _experienced_ dear. Don't _ever_ make the mistake again to think that I am one of you. I shall do the same."

Casavir caught up with me at the buffet table, as I was furiously piling strawberries on a small Shouware plate.

"Don't even get started." I measured between my teeth. "She needed to be told, she would have kept going and slowly erode whatever self-esteem any of my friends who'd been sitting there had with her nasty little remarks." I took a deep breath and searched his face. "Not to mention she was insinuating things about both you and Lord Nasher. For that alone, I should have demanded satisfaction as Squire of the Crown and paladin, from anyone who wanted to defend her. I was being nice."

"My lady." he said calmly. "I wouldn't insult you with thinking that your behavior was not what any other godstouched should have done in your stead. She was out of line, and I believe at the end she knew that she was out of her element as well." He allowed himself a brief smile. "And I cannot help but wish if I could have witnessed an actual duel defending Lady Maira. She had a rather… interesting reputation even when I was still living in the city."

'Well yes, I figured she wasn't a spring chicken." I cautiously balanced my plate on my palm. "So…you're not… mad at me for forgetting being proper, then?"

"Mad." He shook his head. "My lady, you do have a way with words. I am not 'mad' at you for answering Lady Maira the way she should have been answered a long time ago, no." He was back to his formal tones, due to the ebb and flow of people around us.

"Oh good." I said, with feeling. "You worked so hard on making me a proper lady and here I go, getting all…" I stopped and grinned at him. "Well, I guess the proper expression is 'I got all paladin on her ass'. Pardon my Cormyran."

"Something told me very early on," he murmured, leaning a bit closer, "…that you will cause quite a stir, my lady. In the city, at this ball…" he took a deep breath, "…and, most of all, in my own life. And I never would have thought, but I am more grateful for it than I can express."

I shook my head.

"Casavir Korranos, you can still surprise me." I fussed with the strawberries a bit, trying to arrange plate, napkin and silver fork in my hands, concentrating on not sticking my tongue out while doing so. "If you wait for but a bit, I will get done eating these properly, and you can carry me around to get introduced to as many people as you want."

"If you don't mind, I'd rather not do that in public." he deadpanned, and I almost choked on my first strawberry.

"Don't do that to me again, please." I breathed, when I managed to regain my breath. I hoped I didn't attract too much attention. "Your recently found dry humor and delivery will kill me one day."

"It's all your fault." He shrugged with the extreme grace that I envied from the very first time we've met. "Truly, I used to be this extremely serious and duty-bound person, until…"

"So I am bad influence now, hm?" I tried to look stern and disapproving, but it's hard to do that when eating one of my favorite fruits. In Yule season, and in quantity, and in perfectly ripe state. "You don't know how lucky you are that we're in public and that I'm distracted by strawberries, good sir." I finished another one and didn't stop before the next. "Otherwise, I'd be inclined to settle this the way it is customary with disagreements."

"You mean an hours-long debate over the fine points of personal interaction, influence and the alignment of stars and fate?" He raised an eyebrow. "I would actually look forward to that."

"Tyrran." I muttered, trying not to giggle. "I suppose tomorrow morning at arms practice I will see just how badly I influenced you, hm?"

"All in good time." He nodded; then his eyes widened as he noticed something by the door, and took a deep breath. "But for now, my lady, I'd suggest to put that plate down: judging by the movement at the door and the way Captain Ballard tries to sneak in unobtrusively, I suspect Lord Nasher has arrived."

Indeed he had. No sooner I spotted the blackened armor of Ballard by the hall doors, than two fully armored palace guards also appeared there, and silence slowly fell on the crowd as the majordomo tapped his ceremonial staff on the marble floor, announcing:

"Lord Nasher Alagondar, Defender of Neverwinter!"

I suspected this was the most formal part of the ball; everyone stopped as the Ruler of Neverwinter, dressed in somber but sumptuous brocade, slowly made his way from the door to where Tavorick was sitting, and everyone bowed or curtsied in his wake. He was flanked by some of the Nine: Nevalle, of course, was there, and I could make out the faces of Lord Bryce, Sir Darmon and Sir Grayson, all in their blue-and-gold Neverwinter Nine uniform, surrounding Nasher like cloudless summer sky the sun.

"So what do we do now?" I murmured to Casavir as I successfully performed a curtsy and rose. "Just stand here and wait?"

He smiled at me from the corner of his mouth.  
"Just until he greets Tavorick and takes his seat. Then they announce the start of the ball and he'll start his round to choose his partner for the opening dance."

"Ah." I nodded. "I heard about that from Qara. A waltz written specifically for this occasion, if I understood it right?"

As we were talking, my eyes were constantly scanning around, both on the real and the astral plane, looking for any sign of trouble. I could see and feel that Casavir was doing the same, and when I could see my companions, I realized most of them followed suit. I was glad to see that Bishop was earning his fee, despite Qara parading him around like a prize stallion (and that irked me to no end, too): he was leaning against a pillar next to her and some older ladies, hazel eyes moving constantly, even when he occasionally said something. I caught a sight of Grobnar, too: the gnome managed to insert himself into the orchestra on the musicians' gallery at the end of the hall. I vaguely remembered that one of the fiddlers…_violinists_, I reminded myself, _violinists, Arrighan, learn the proper terms, will you_… pulled their wrists or something, shortly after arriving to the estate the day before. Convenient, that, and I could see even from this distance that albeit he was really enjoying himself, my little bard took his duty seriously. Under the pretense of tuning his instrument like the rest of the musicians did, he was plucking out some warding spell-song tunes on his violin. I could almost see the strings of magic coalescing around him, the fine weave floating in the air to detect any change in the magical flux of the room from any evil plane. It was so subtle that I could only get a tiny glimpse of it before I lost it; I was sure if I didn't have my unknown father's celestial blood, I'd not have been able to spot it.

The rest of my merry little band was grouped still around Tavorick. I could see delicate blush coloring Elanee's copper cheeks as she replied to something Nasher just said to her, still standing over there, surrounded by his bodyguards. Watching Neeshka eyeing the chain decorating Nasher's doublet I knew that I'd be hearing from this evening from her for days, complete with the assessment of value of each gem on most guests' attire.

"I _so_ do hope she can restrain herself from grabbing at that chain." I muttered to myself. "It would be deeply embarrassing."

"You don't give Neeshka enough credit, my lady." Casavir obviously could hear me. "She knows this is not the time and the place." He sighed. "Once this assignment is over, though, you probably need to talk to her about not to make plans about trying to see if she could investigate Lord Nasher's private quarters for some prizes. I would not have her to meet Clemins just yet, if it's all the same to you."

I shuddered.

"I agree." The thought of my tiefling finding herself in the dark matching stealth and blades with a trained high-level Harper assassin was just too much to bear. "Either way, that encounter would be too costly."

Our conversation was cut short by the smart rap of the majordomo's staff on the ground again. The small murmur that rose while Nasher was conversing with Tavorick and his small entourage died down again.

"The Lord of Neverwinter wishes to address the host and his guests." The old man announced, again on that surprisingly clear and carrying voice. Nasher in the meantime, scaled the steps of the small dais they set up for his high-backed chair right next to where the host of the ball sat, followed by his bodyguards, and now turned.

"Lord Cyran, my esteemed host, and all guests who are here today." He started formally, but then I noticed small wrinkles of mirth around his eyes, and his tone lightened almost immediately. I thought that was fitting the occasion, and yet it still startled me, every time this stern and proud Lord decided to ease the mood. "If I count it right, this is the twenty-fourth ball in the Tavorick mansion I have the honor to attend as the ruler of this city. I know some of you had been guests longer than that, of course." He paused. "This tradition was one that I wished to keep when I became your Lord, and that I intend to continue… especially since our Lord Cyran seems to be is such an excellent health." There was a small laughter in the audience. "I hear he might actually be looking for a candidate to be the fifth lady Tavorick, and as five is a fortunate number, I would say to all unmarried ladies in the hall, they might want to consider it." Another pause. "After all, we need to make sure there always will be a Lord Tavorick in this mansion for future generations to come, so this noble tradition of the First Yule ball never dies." He made a small motion with his hand towards the majordomo. "And now, since I am sure you all are eagerly waiting to see your ruler publicly humiliated…" another wave of laughter, "… I was informed that apparently the opening dance this year is going to be a waltz." I saw the majordomo nod towards the orchestra dais, and the music started almost under audible level first, with tiny strokes of drums and some whisper-light accords of violins, brass and wind. "I am sure this is to honor our guests from Waterdeep, where this dance came from." He turned to Nevalle. "I ask the captain of the Nine to make sure no one gets harmed while they take my arm, whoever the lucky lady this season might be."

Nevalle bowed lightly.

"At your command, Sire." He pulled out something from his doublet and handed it to Nasher who opened his arms towards the hall.

"This year's Yule season is hereby opened." He said in a raised voice. "May this season be merry and full of blessings, despite the darkness that surrounds us."

"I wonder what this year's favor looks like." I heard a lady next to me whisper to her escort, a bored-looking older man with a nose the size of a small onion. "I heard it is magicked by the Many-Starred Cloaks so it transforms instantly to something most fitting to the chosen lady's personality the moment he makes his choice."

"Hush, Rina." The old man whispered seriously; Nasher started to make his round amongst the crowd; nervously bobbing heads marked his progress. "Just remember to smile, all right? We could use some favor with the court…"

"Oh, gods." The woman called Rina swallowed loudly. "He's heading this way."

He indeed did. As the music got louder, the Ruler of Neverwinter made his way across the hall, slowing down here and there to greet someone, but never actually stopping, until he came closer to the side where we stood. His clear green gaze swept across those standing by the buffet table, and before I could realize what was happening, he was right in front of me, the members of the Nine trailing in his wake.

"I see Sebille's jewels finally find a worthy lady to wear them." he said quietly as he nodded, once to Casavir, once to me, formally. "Squire Arrighan Pendwyr, would you do the honor of opening this Ball with me?"

I felt, just like at my entrance earlier, that everyone's gaze was on me—I definitely felt the angry and disbelieving look from where the lady called Rina stood.

"I…I am the one who is honored, Sire." I hoped my curtsy was up to courtly standards. As I rose and took his offered hand, I could see that he was smiling.

"I do hope those dance lessons were useful." he murmured as he pinned a small sapphire rose on my collar: that was the shape the magic decided on for the favor-I could practically feel the shimmering warmth of power around it still. "For both you and I, that is."

"You took… dancing lessons, Sire?" I asked, slightly disbelieving as he led me to the middle of the floor.

"I have to do this charade every year, Chosen. Traditions are important, especially in these years since the one in which I ascended the throne. The Time of Troubles still haunts my memories." He sighed. "I thought I knew all courtly dances; but this new thing swept through the cities like a plague and most of my advisors insisted that I was to learn it." His fingers pressed on mine; cool and calming. "Besides, you don't have to take more but a couple of steps with this old man here… I'll return you to my nephew fast enough."  
"I…" I felt a slight blush creeping up my cheeks. Really, what does one say to the ruler of the realm in a situation like this? Neither Retta, not Aevan ever prepared me for anything remotely similar.

" I appreciate that, Sire." I smiled at him, as he took my waist. "But if you needed a report on how things are going with protecting Lord Tavorick…"

"You think I chose you just because of that?" He seemed amused. "Although some of my opponents on the Council like to accuse me of being a heartless politician, I would think that I'd occasionally just take the opportunity to pay a compliment to someone who deserves it." He saw my confusion over that and smiled briefly. "That means I think you look stunning tonight."

"Ah." I became painfully aware of the fact that in about two heartbeat, judging by how the music triumphantly arched up, I'll be making my first steps on the dance floor at the Grand Yule Ball of Neverwinter with the city's ruler, with the cream of the city's aristocracy and my entire merry little band looking on. "And I must assume the desire to rattle the chains of the city's aristocracy and reminding Waterdeep that Neverwinter is an independent state despite its membership in the Lords' Alliance has nothing to do with this?"

"Ah, again, that honesty and openness my court needs like a breath of fresh air." He led through the first steps of that waltz like he'd danced this in his entire life. "All of that, Chosen, and a couple more reasons, yes. One of which is that I was strongly advised reinstating diplomatic relations with Luskan and receive a new Ambassador."

"What?" I hoped that didn't sound too harsh. "After all of…"

"Kindly keep smiling, child." he warned. "You are too young, despite all you've been through, and your training as a paladin hasn't quite prepared you for dealing with the shifting winds of diplomacy quite well. We have a new Luskan ambassador, yes, and she requested a private audience with me and wants you to be there as well. I thought this ball would be an excellent time, as soon as the first frenzy of dancing died down and the general excitement over you as a novelty of the evening calmed." I followed his lead, slightly numb from what he just told me, as he did a last twirl around, then smoothly let go of my waist and turned; he stopped us directly in front of where Casavir stood, Judge Oleff and Prior Hlam flanking him in their resplendent blue-and-purple robes.

"That is as much as my old bones allow me." Nasher said calmly, looking at his nephew. "I'm afraid this is a rather lengthy waltz--time to let the young and full of vigor take the floor." He let go of my hand and nodded. "I do believe the original title of this piece the author came up with was actually Paladin-Waltz. Something to do with honoring the way a young paladin of Tyr successfully overcame the evil manipulations of her enemies." He looked at us. "I am told, of course, that he reconsidered that after it was pointed out that it would be more… beneficial for international relationships to choose a safer dedication."

"Do I really have to think about all of that right now?" I asked Casavir as we moved back onto the floor, amongst the rest of the pairs of dancers now allowed to join in. "Or should I just treat it as something to be contemplated once this evening is over?"

"I would think…" he said slowly as he steered us away from another couple, "…that was something to be carefully considered once we're over our current task of protecting Lord Tavorick and his silver shard, my lady. It seems the wheels of politics and diplomacy never stop."

"Yes, but I've never dreamed I'd be a part of it." I said desperately. "I just…I just wanted to do what's right."

As the music soared and we sped up our steps to keep up with the triumphant beat of drums and brass chords, I felt like I was tossed into a whirlwind that was frightening, exhilarating, unknown and utterly deadly at the same time. A single movement, a carelessly pronounced word, being in the bad place at a bad time--all carried their own dangers, sharp and cruel like the cutting edge of a knife, or the scouring sandstorms of the great desert out East.

I looked into Casavir's eyes, and what I saw there made me calm down a bit, allowing the question leave my lips at last.

"Will you…help me?" I asked quietly, barely over the sounds of the orchestra. "I think your uncle has… plans for me. For… us."

I felt his fingers tighten on my waist for a second.

"Of course, my lady." he said, equally quiet and somber; a sharp contrast to the exuberantly joyful and triumphant music floating all around us. "I will always be there for you."


	44. A Little More Time

-1**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections. It really helps me to get better, so please feel free to leave a review. Thanks for all of those who have already done so—you guys are great!**

**There is language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things. **

**For this chapter I used: _Breton Medley _from Azam Ali's _Portals of Grace_; _Zablejalo Mi Agance _from Stellamara's _The Seven Val_leys, and _Time _from Sarah Mclachlan's _Afterglow_.**

**And the usual wishful thinking: I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… The Pendwyr girl is entirely my fault, though. J**

**Chapter Forty-Four: A Little More Time**

I could have killed for a good greasy bacon sandwich from Duncan's kitchen.

Well, not exactly _kill_. But punch, armlock or wrestle, sure. I was passed from one dance to another, seemingly without stop. Even friggin' _Nevalle_ deigned to have a _pavane _with me, which really increased the envious sighs and murderous glances around me. The Captain of the Nine was apparently the most eligible bachelor of Neverwinter, if you don't count Nasher, on whom most of the ladies pretty much gave up already. Instead, they obviously started to line up as contenders of possible successors, and apparently Nevalle was right up there, if you asked the female part of the city's aristocracy. It apparently amused him, too; he must have had a conversation with Nasher at some point, because his behavior towards me was much more like the first time we've met than lately.

"I'm more grateful than you know, Squire, that you agreed to this dance." He confessed as we took another turn on the floor.

"Ah. You were being chased by admirers, I guess?" He was a born dancer, with grace and assurance; if he fought this way as well, I understood how he became the leader of the Nine.  
"I'm not used to… talking this frankly with a lady, but…yes." he said with some hesitation.

"I hate to split hairs, but technically I am not one." I said, smiling but firm. "A lady, that is. Neither my title as a squire nor my rank as one of the warriors of the Even-Handed fit into that category. So no need to bother with the formalities you normally would have." I thought for a second and smiled at him. "However, if you want to return the favor, you'll escort me to that buffet table after this dance is over, and I can buy you a bit more time away from the attention of any females. If you help me to finally get something to eat. I am starving."

He unexpectedly smiled back. When he let that mask of his drop, he really had a sweet face, soft and almost vulnerable, especially with that always perfect haircut and his dimpled cheeks. I could understand why some of the younger women followed his every move with feverish eyes.

"It is settled." He tilted his head sideways, considering me carefully. "Mayhap Nasher is right and you are, indeed, what we need at court."

"And mayhap you're not as hopelessly stuck-up in the ass as I thought either." I returned the favor with my West Harbor frankness firmly in place, before my celestial self could've prevented me.

"I make you a deal, Squire." Nevalle swallowed, but to his credit, he didn't seem particularly outraged or offended. I was impressed, against my will. "If you let me to… enjoy your company just a bit more this evening, I'll make sure that we unobtrusively meet at the buffet table with Lord Korranos and that way he doesn't have to put up with whoever he seems to be…um… stuck with at the moment."

"Oh, sweet breath of Ilmater." I sighed, glancing over his shoulder. "You are right. He'd been captured by one of those horrible harpies…erh, excuse me…"

He suppressed a laugh.

"That's an… accurate description of Lady Hawkes indeed." he said, steering me towards the tables through the sizeable crowd that developed on the floor by now. "But how do you know her?"

"Oh, she and her… _pack_…" Nevalle made that sputtering sound again, "…were around Lord Tavorick earlier and we got introduced." I hoped I didn't grind my teeth loud enough to hear. "She flung insults heavy enough that I considered demanding satisfaction had she showed up with an escort."

"Ah." The Captain of the Nine nodded. "Apparently she forgot that you are perfectly capable of defending yourself on your own, otherwise she'd never…" He stopped as we neared the segment of the hall where an increasingly grim-faced Casavir tried to politely but firmly maneuver himself away from the Lady Maira Hawkes. Unfortunately, there was only so much he could retreat before the buffet table blocked his path.

"My lord Korranos…"Nevalle bowed with perfect courtesy. His second bow towards lady Maira was considerably shorter. "Milady Hawkes."

"Is it really that late?" Maira's eyes narrowed, but she tried to sound utterly at ease as she glanced towards the large Neverwintan clock gracing the mantel of the large fireplace. "I completely forgot that I promised a dance to that sweet Mentier, the Cormyran ambassador. I am sorry, gentlemen." The way she sailed away, ignoring me completely otherwise would have been insulting, but right now all I could do is grin at the two men: both looked distinctly relieved.

"I owe you, Nevalle. " Casavir said darkly. "Whatever you need." He shivered slightly. "I am really not sure I could have stood more of her barely veiled hints that hopefully my cute knight-errant phase of life is over now and I am ready to settle down and take up my responsibilities as a good noble and start breeding." I've rarely heard him being this bitter; from him it almost amounted to vulgarity. The lady must have really touched a nerve.

"How about some time in your company?" Nevalle raised an eyebrow. "I know that probably robs you from some conversation topics with the squire here, but I could also use some relief from…"

"He's chased by women." I informed Casavir while piling a plate high with whatever I could put my hands on, not even caring about whether they went together. I tried to ease his mood, and I was relieved to see that as he regarded my plate, a slow smile seemed to appear in the corner on his mouth. Well, if this was that I had to do to cheer him up, I could add a couple more stuffed mushrooms, no problem. "Can we protect the good Captain while I am eating, in some unobtrusive corner, perhaps?"

"How about the _orangerie_?" Casavir looked thoughtful. "Since it seems everything else is in order, we can disappear for a while. Shandra and Elanee are with Tavorick right now, I spoke to Neeshka just a little while ago and all is clear."

"Then the dept is paid." Nevalle nodded. "Lead on, milord."

Carrying my plate and fork, I followed the two knights, trying to figure out what the hells an _orangerie_ was. Maybe a room with fruit décor?

I tried not to be intimidated by Cormyran words, but suspected that it will be inevitable to pick some of it up eventually, since it seemed to be almost mandatory in the courts of the Sword Coast and beyond, apparently. It was not something I looked forward to—learning languages frightened me for some reason. Daeghun tried to teach me the basics of his elven dialect just so we have a way of communicating when he didn't want the rest of the village know what it was about, but I hit a barrier early on and that was that. On the other hand, I soaked up Tyr's holy language taught by him like a sponge… Aevan suspected it was something to do with my celestial blood.

The _orangerie_ turned out to be the indoor, covered garden at the back of the mansion that I admired during our first walk-through of the house already. Its great expanses of priceless sheet glass windows looked at a carefully tended formal topiary garden and another grand staircase, almost exactly copying the one in front. The air was warm, heavy with water vapors and the scent of flowering citrus trees standing in huge pots amongst shelves of exotic flowers and small wood boxes filled with all kinds of plants I only vaguely recognized. It was beautiful, with only some large standing candleholders illuminating parts of it—it almost looked like one of those enchanted gardens one reads about in fairy tales as a child. They even had little chairs, sofas and tables around, so I didn't have to embarrass myself in front of the Captain of the Nine by spilling food all over my dress attempting to eat standing up. Besides, I still remembered what Aevan told me one day observing me wolfing down some rolls and cold meat in between training bouts, standing over Daeghun's kitchen table: "_Horses eat standing up, Arrighan. You are not one of them. Kindly pull up a chair and have your lunch the way the gods intended it to be eaten. I should think I 'm not one of those teachers who treats his apprentices as slaves." _ Ever since then, although my table manners still left something to be desired, I always tried to sit down and properly chew my food from a plate or at least a piece of bread, even when traveling. Thus, I kept my elbows properly at my side while, flashing an apologetic smile at the two men and murmuring 'sorry, hungry' I applied myself to my plate.

Of course, they didn't have any bacon sandwiches, but there was plenty of that goose liver pate I liked at Ophala's, little flowerbud-shaped pastry bundles filled with chicken and some vegetables I couldn't identify, parchment-thin slices of carved beef, fresh fruit, tiny pink shrimp in a delicately garlic-infused oil, bread cut into tiny rounds and rectangles and toasted, piled with roasted vegetables… I kept my gaze on my plate and didn't look up until it was almost empty, aware of the two men sitting in two chairs next to me quietly talking.

"I'm sorry." I said, dabbing at my lips with a napkin. "I really had to eat. You don't want me cranky for the rest of the evening, right?"

"Far be from us, Squire." Nevalle regarded me thoughtfully and paused. "And now that you've finished, perhaps you're ready for that meeting with the Luskan ambassador?"

I took a deep breath; that took me unawares like a hammer blow between my brows, but tried not to show anything on my face. I remembered Elanee's remarks about letting my celestial side to come out a bit more, and I found myself obeying that easier now that my stomach was full.

"I see." I said with what I hoped was a quiet calm. "Should I assume then that those ladies chasing you were merely a convenient excuse to stay away from the ballroom and get into a more quiet location?"

"I am but merely following orders, Squire." Nevalle stood up, stiff and formal again, and bowed. "We are all serving Neverwinter and its Lord. I trust you remember that?"

"At least he let me eat before he sprung that on me." I muttered to his retreating back as he left the room. "And reminding me of my duties was just… a low blow."

"Nevalle takes those duties very seriously." Casavir said cautiously. "But I don't think he has a sense of humor."

"Well, _that _explains a lot." I said pushing the plate away. "So… did you know about this little plan to get me here?"

He furrowed his brow.

"About a new Luskan ambassador? No, my lady, why would I?" I could hear the characteristic Tyrran 'I don't have enough data to form an opinion about this matter' undertones in his voice, recognized because in that regard, our training was exactly the same.

"Never mind." I said quickly, reaching over and giving his hand a quick squeeze. "I am getting increasingly paranoid in these courtly circles, is all. Lord Nasher talked about having a new ambassador practically forced on him, and that he was trying to meet her here, telling me the person specifically requested me to be present as well…"

"Should I leave, then?" Casavir asked, halfway out of his seat before I could do anything.

"I wouldn't think so." The voice behind us was Lord Nasher's; he stepped out of the barely lit mass of potted plants and flowers almost without noise. "I might have use for your talents in more than one way, young man." He pointed at the chair Casavir just vacated. "Sit back and listen; the Luskan should be here soon. " He turned to me. "I don't exactly know why she wants this meeting so bad, but be on your guard. Sydney Natale is a ranking Hosttover mage, and rather powerful at that. We might …have to resort to some specific tactics to handle her." He glanced at Casavir. "The presence of two paladins of the Lord of Justice hopefully will mean she refrains from too much lying, but we can never be sure."

"Do you wish me to employ Truthseeing, Sire?" Casavir asked seriously, hands clasped in his lap.

"Perhaps… although she would probably detect that." Nasher said slowly. "I leave it to your judgment; but remember that we ought to treat this woman with kid gloves until she blunders the same way Torio Claven did." His green eyes were cold and sad. "Luskan has recently started a large-scale sea invasion of Ruathym, claiming it was a response to Ruath attacks on Luskan outposts."

"And thus Neverwinter and the Lord's Alliance ought to play it with gloved hands until the situation becomes clearer." I felt bitterness in my mouth; now it made more sense, all the diplomats and ambassadors scurrying around at the ball, the occasional whispers in corners I caught, the slightly worried face of Mother Superior Hadewiga in deep conversation with Lord Callum in a secluded part of the ballroom.

"Indeed." Nasher nodded. "You're a fast learner, Chosen."

"I've been thrown into deep waters, Sire. If I don't learn to swim fast, a lot of people get hurt." I said quietly, looking at him squarely.

"You and your… group did very well so far in preparing this house for anything possible." Nasher said encouragingly, and sighed. "But another matter has recently been brought to our attention. It seems that we have an even larger problem within Neverwinter than we first thought…"

"I hope we are not intruding." It seemed this was he evening of people appearing out of nowhere; it started to irritate me. Although Nasher just complimented us on the good work we did taking care of Tavorick, if he and this plump, unassuming woman in swirling drab-colored robes could sneak up on two paladins catching them unawares, what chance did we have against the forces wanting to take Tavorick's silver shard?

"It seems Neverwinter is quite active, of late." the woman said, with an overly sweet smile, sending warning signs all over my mind. She had no mark of office or jewelry on her, hair unkempt, face round and greasy… but a wide tattoo mark run from the left side of her forehead down to her jaw line in the form of a triangle, and that made her face sinister enough to realize that this was probably the person we were waiting for.

"I said I would send for you later, after I am done here." Nasher leaned back in his chair, his voice cold.

The woman shook her head, face still contorted by that smile.

"My apologies, my Lord Nasher. But the conversation before was a bit brief, and I did not think it would be best for both our cities to wait any longer... forgive my impatience." Her gaze suddenly focused on me, with an almost audible slithering sound, and her tone changed from sweet to crisp and polite. "Ah, is this the Harborman... " she paused, as if remembering, "…the _Squire _I have heard so much about?"

I caught Casavir's warning glance, and I recalled what Nasher said about the new Luskan ambassador: high-ranking mage of the Hosttowers.

_She needs to be played carefully_.

"Milord, if this is an inappropriate time, I will take my leave." I rose from my chair and bowed towards Nasher, casting a careful but unmistakable look towards Casavir.

"No, no - I want you here, this merits your attention." There was a glint of appreciation in the Lord of Neverwinter's eyes, and he waved a dismissive hand, trying to look bored and slightly disinterested. "Actually, both of you. This is Sydney Natale, our new ambassador from Luskan. She arrived earlier, and I had hoped to speak to you privately before we met." He peered into the shadows behind Natale where a man of undeterminable age, long, gangly limbs and sour expression lurked. "Her associate is Khralver, I believe?"

I understood then why Nasher allowed Casavir to stay; since the ambassador brought one of her aides, she most naturally should have assumed a paladin of the Even-handed was used for the same purpose by the Lord of Neverwinter.

"Well met, my lady." The pale and gaunt man bowed towards me; he had a distinct tick to the left of his face, and his voice stuttered. " It is m-my pl-…"

A brief flash of anger showed in Sydney Natale's eyes. She pursed her lips together and cut her assistant off with a curt move of her hand.

"Khralver is of no consequence, he is here to assist me - and silently." She took a deep breath. "The news I bring concerns you, Lord Nasher, and I most of all, so it is fitting you have arrived. I had hoped to speak to you before leaving in any event." She blinked. "As for…khm…the servant of Tyr here…" her gaze lingered on where Casavir's holy symbol rested on his doublet.

"He's here on my express request, Ambassador." Nasher's thin lips were drawn into a brief, mirthless smile and his voice clearly suggested that the Luskan should drop this topic, and fast.

"Of course, milord." She didn't look happy, not one bit, but apparently that was exactly the effect Nasher was aiming for.

"I am listening, Ambassador." I interjected politely.

"There has been a miscommunication, so I have traveled from Luskan to straighten certain matters out." Natale started, taking a cue from Nasher who finally pointed at a chair for her to sit. After seating herself, she continued, folding pudgy hands in her lap. "If they were left to rumor, gossip, or surface appearances, they might be... misconstrued." I leaned back in my chair; this was a different tone from that of Torio Claven, but I felt some undercurrents there that were eerily similar. "You have recently had trouble with those you believe affiliated with Luskan, when in fact, they are not connected to or supported by us at all."

She paused, and I felt her muddy brown eyes settle on me.

"There are four towers in Luskan, each ruled by a skilled mage... and we four work tirelessly to aid Luskan and its people. But there is a self-styled "Master of the Fifth Tower," who, as his title suggests, has... overstepped his bounds." She tilted her head to the side, and made a small 'tsk' sound, like a patient teacher disapproving of something a bright but unruly pupil might do. "This mage is a man by the name of Garius - "Black" Garius, I believe is yet another title he uses - silly, really, but he really does believe he casts a longer shadow than he does." She shook her head as if trying to dismiss the significance of what she just said. There was that sweet smile again, too, like a sticky candy that gets stuck in your teeth and just won't go away. "Nevertheless, he has been quite... industrious as of late... almost as industrious as you, my dear Harborman. But he is not affiliated with our city or its interests - unlike you and your _long-standing _ties to service in Neverwinter."

She definitely was good, better at this than Torio; even just by extending my senses a bit, I could feel how strongly she was shielding herself from any mental probing, or even the slightest attempt at it. She felt like an impenetrable fortress on the mental and astral planes, smooth surfaces of buttresses and crenellated towers gleaming in the light of those spheres with the same grays and browns as her robes.

I suddenly felt azure and silver tendrils reaching out towards those buttresses; Casavir was probing the defense lines. He had been doing this type of probing much longer than I did—there was a reason why Nasher asked him to stay.

"And what has he been up to that should concern me?" I asked, with what I thought was polite interest. At the same time, I relaxed my human self, allowing my celestial side to rise to the surface. I felt a tiny nudge of something at the edge of my consciousness, in dull grey and drab brown. _Oh-ho._ It seemed the Luskan was trained in some kind of mental probing spells.

_This will get interesting._

I let the air out and could almost hear the click of my shields as my celestial side pulled them up without hesitation—even I was surprised how strong they grew since I realized the Even-Handed had Chosen me.

Nasher spoke; from his firm tone it was obvious he tried to get the conversation back on track.

"Ambassador Natale informed me earlier that she believes Black Garius began the war with their island neighbor, Ruathym."

"Yes." Sydney Natale's nod was earnest; she spread her hands. "And it has served as a convenient means to distract Luskan from its real priorities." She shrugged. "Regardless, Ruathym was an aggressor for quite some time, so action needed to be taken, regardless..."

Nasher furrowed his eyebrows. Beside him, Casavir stirred and closed his eyes for a second. I was wondering if he succeeded in scaling those defense lines in the Luskan's mental fortress, but I didn't dare to betray my awareness of what was going on.

"I believe the Lord's Alliance would have taken exception to that... as do I." Nasher said in a quiet, clear voice, that sounded somewhat threatening.

"I am certain they would have, milord." Natale's smile was a bit strained; she reached up and gently started to massage the point between her two brows with a finger. I was wondering what that meant; it seemed a curiously vulnerable gesture from this woman. "But since Ruathym attacked us first, it is our responsibility to deal with their aggression and quickly... you can expect little else from island barbarians, really."

"Hence the flotilla of ships currently blockading their capital, bombarding the harbor." Nasher shrugged. "As I said, the Lord's Alliance is monitoring the situation very closely."

"No doubt about it, milord. "Sydney made that 'tsk' sound again, as if disapproving of something. "And since you do, you obviously already know, or would soon have learned about what I am to tell you now. You see, Ruathym believed that Luskan had stolen a precious artifact from them - a book called the Tome of Iltkazar. A powerful artifact... and not only can its sudden disappearance lead two nations to war, but in the wrong hands, it can be used to channel tremendous power."

"And you believe Black Garius stole it, framing your government." I tapped the arm of my chair. "Then how can we reclaim it? For the sake of international relations, of course." I added with a smile.

"Ah, my dear Harborman, I see you are taking lessons from some excellent teachers in diplomacy." Natale leaned forward a bit.

"I had to learn fast… Luskan." I said with a shrug; if she kept referring to me by my origins, I could do the same—since she started it, I didn't breach protocol by dipping her nose in it.

She nodded, acknowledging the blow, and I saw a brief gleam of grudgingly awarded respect in her eyes for a second.

"Reclaiming that tome is a matter we feel best left to Neverwinter... the matter is a domestic one, as it turns out." I got confused for a second by that; but she continued, and fast. "But that is not all that concerns us - we believe that Black Garius has made an alliance with someone known as "the King of Shadows" - a man or creature - of whom we know very little. Garius was no doubt able to steal the Tome of Iltkazar with help from this ally - and use it to bolster his armies with golems awakened by the Tome."

"The King of Shadows…"I said slowly.

"You're familiar with this… entity, I believe?" Damn, but she was good! She picked up on the tone of my voice immediately and swooped down like a hawk.

I had to go for the tested and true 'changing the subject a bit' tactic again—hoping it will unbalance her enough so whatever Casavir was doing would pass unnoticed.

"Garius sparked a war for a book? Isn't that a Luskan matter?" I asked. "Your statement that this would be an internal matter of Neverwinter had me confused for a second."

Nasher leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled in front of him, watching both of us very much in the manner he looked on in his great hall during my trial.

The ambassador shook her head almost ruefully.

"No, my dear…Squire - unfortunately, his ambitions do not end there. We have received word that he intends to perform a powerful ritual within the lands of Neverwinter, with knowledge he has stolen from the very King of Shadows he serves. I have heard of the loss of your local sage," she hesitated before she pronounced the name, "…Aldanon, but I suspect he is not really a part of this."

"What do you mean?" That was somewhat meandering; she either responded to my evasive maneuvers with one of her own, or else Casavir managed to get through and she was distracted on more than one level.

"He is not guilty of being Garius' compatriot, if that is your belief." she said, a bit slowly. "I think… in such an instance, a kidnapping would not have been needed. I suspect he was kidnapped to provide the last of the missing pieces to the ritual - a ritual that will steal power from the "King of Shadows" - and grant it to Garius. "I sensed another pause and indeed, she considered what she said next very carefully. "The exact powers granted are not known to me - or my fellow mages, which is a further cause for concern. But I have told you all I know."

What she said earlier made more sense now; I was about to speak up when I saw Casavir leaning forward, with a suddenly tense expression on his face.

"You said Garius was in Neverwinter territory? But you don't know where? So what will Luskan do now?"

Natale's eyebrows went up as she regarded him with something akin to surprise.

"We felt it was not only our duty to clear up any ties you might believe exist between Luskan and this criminal, my dear paladin, " she said slowly, "but also inform you of his whereabouts." She looked at Nasher. "He and his forces are in a ruined castle, Crossroad Keep, within Neverwinter lands."

It was odd--I could see something almost akin to shock fluttering through both Nasher's and his nephew's face hearing that name. It was only for the briefest of seconds, and it was gone, replaced by a look of detached concern, again, eerily similar for both.

"Normally, Luskan would not hesitate to take action against such a criminal, but with the confusion that has already occurred, we felt it was best to advise Lord Nasher - and you - of the situation and allow you to do what you feel is best." The ambassador continued as if nothing happened, nodding politely towards me.

" But…Why Crossroad Keep? And in Neverwinter territory?" I asked, remembering that expression on the two men's face.

Natale sounded slightly condescending as she answered; I resisted the temptation to show teeth at that.

"It is... difficult to explain to someone not skilled in the arcane arts."

"Nevertheless, I'd be grateful for you enlightening me…us." I said with exaggerated care, measuring the words like a tailor his cloth.

She cleared her throat at that before continuing; I could see a small smile in Nasher's eyes for a second.

"Crossroad Keep was the site of a great battle in the past, one against the King of Shadows, in fact. That much we have been able to uncover. " Sydney Natale probably also had a couple of apprentices as a mage; I recognized the cadences of a teacher speaking to some sleepy and disinterested pupils, being, on occasion, one sleepy and disinterested apprentice myself. "We believe that some of the power from that battle, his "essence", perhaps, allows them a stronger tie to the King of Shadows if the ritual is performed there, but that is our best guess." She spread her hands. "I am afraid that's the best explanation I can give, Squire. Perhaps…"

I gently rubbed the bridge of my nose. That was significant in more than one way, but again, before I could form my thoughts, Casavir spoke up in a slow, thoughtful manner.

" So… any arcane energy left over from the battle, even long ago, they may be able to tap into - especially if it's tied to the King of Shadows." His azure eyes searched the Luskan ambassador's face intently. " Essentially what you're saying is that the residue of the King of Shadows may create a stronger tie, make the ritual more powerful."

Natale regarded him as if she'd seen him for the first time.

"Correct. " She nodded towards the Lord of Neverwinter, and I could almost se her mind desperately trying to search her internal filing cabinet. The question 'who _is _this?' was almost audible. "I see my expertise may be wasted with such a sharp mind at your command, Lord Nasher."

"That makes sense." I leaned back, sending a grateful look towards Casavir. "You do not need to explain any more, Ambassador."

She narrowed her eyes; there were so many thoughts swirling behind that deceptively bland muddy-brown gaze!

"Very well." she said slowly and licked her lips. Her voice was that of oversweet honey again. " If Lord Nasher has any questions, he could simply ask you, it seems." I inhaled sharply at that; how did she _dare _to imply I somehow suggested I made the decisions here! " But Garius is at Crossroad Keep, that we can say for certain."

"I see." I knew I shouldn't have started this, but all of a sudden something bubbled over inside of me and the question just spilled out, despite all of my training in the art of diplomacy.

"However, you need to explain something to me, still, Ambassador; a question that bothered me since the Lord Nasher has graciously informed me about this acceptance of a new Luskan ambassador after the last one was officially exiled from his realm."

Paladins cannot lie, and can't abide people blatantly lie and weave webs of deception around them either; sooner or later we all feel the tension unbearable and are compelled to bring things out to light. I suspected that's why Casavir had to ask those questions, especially after attempting to get past the Luskan mage's mental defenses… and that's why now, after she tried again and again to change subject and assure us that all she wanted was to help out Neverwinter out of the goodness of her Luskan heart, I finally grabbed her and pointed the question at her like a dagger, straight to her heart.

"So you are denying what happened at Ember? That Luskan had no involvement?"

She didn't seem particularly offended; almost as if she expected that question eventually.

"Yes, that is correct. " she said calmly, brown eyes widening only slightly.

"Um... " The discreet and very nervous throat-clearing sound came from behind her chair, where her aide, Khralver stood, still half into shadows. "Pardon me, but officially, I have been asked to reinforce, I mean reassure you, of that fact. Logically, it would be foolish for Luskan to spark a war on two fronts, and not only tha-"

"Khralver, _enough_."

Sydney Natale barely raised her voice, but her aide almost jumped back a full step as if he was slapped in the face.

"What happened at Ember was unfortunate, but Luskan would _never _condone such an action." she continued, turning towards me, that sweet smile still on her wide face. She reminded me of a toad waiting for a fly to come just a little bit closer… closer…

"You're lying." Casavir interjected quietly, but firmly. Both Nasher and I looked at him at the same instant; he had tiny sweat beads clinging to his forehead, and the furrows on his brow heralded the coming of a massive headache--I recognized the symptoms as clear as I could hear the truth in his voice.

_He did get through after all--but will pay the price._

Natale's voice dripped with venom this time as she straightened.

"My dear paladin, I would be careful with such words, lest you offend me. I have come in good faith, and you are in danger of throwing it back in my face."

It was too late; I felt my anger rising, slowly but inexorably, like the sea tide over at the Docks.

"So the Sea Ghost spies, the assassins, the destruction of Ember? You knew nothing, had no involvement with any of it?" Even I felt the heat of my words, and despite of how my human side wanted to rein that anger in, there was no helping it--the brush of white-silver wings at the back of my neck was back and it released a wave of emotions so strong I felt my own body rocking back in the chair from the force of it.

Lord Nasher's voice, stern and sober, somehow managed to get through the wall of anger, if only for a second.

"The matter of Luskan and Ember is for me to decide. We both are aware of the threat this... Black Garius represents." I could clearly hear the warning in his tones, aimed at both of us. It briefly occurred to me that having two warriors of the God of Justice at this meeting perhaps wasn't one of his wisest decisions. "If Luskan is interested in peace and cooperation, it is for the good of Neverwinter to respect that intention."

It was too late to calm me down, however. I lifted my chin, and felt the god's conviction in me, the surety that made so many people think we were arrogant, stubborn, stiff-necked fanatics.

"I will _not_. " I saw Casavir blanch as I directly contradicted the ruler of the city. "If they are involved, then they should be made to answer for it."

The Luskan ambassador sighed; all fake displeasure, slight condescension and sly appraisal. My hands slowly closed to a fist as suddenly I _Saw _just how false everything around her was.

"I see the Harborman - and her… lackey - are as stubborn as I have heard." She also dropped the pretensions, it seemed; as she turned to me, the corners of her mouth were drawn into a snarl. "But after all, I did not expect you to understand the subtleties of state and the delicate touch that politics requires, child, especially in these equally delicate times."

She rose from her chair and bowed slightly towards Nasher.

"If we are done here, my lord Nasher, I believe there is not need for me to endure more insults and accusations when I so clearly demonstrated the goodwill of my government to have this whole unfortunate… ah, incident, forgotten and done with."

"I trust you'll enjoy the festivities tonight, and for the remaining of the season, Ambassador." Nasher measured between his teeth, forcing a smile on his face. "Neverwinter will most assuredly act upon this valuable information you have provided."

"I do hope so." Sydney Natale turned to go, after another slight bow. "Fanaticism never carried a nation far. My government certainly took note of the presence of the Waterdhavian High Inquisitor in your court, milord… I can only pray that they don't misinterpret my report."

I could scarcely believe what I just heard; but Nasher already turned to me as soon as the Luskan ambassador left the winter garden.

"Listen to me, Chosen." His voice was low and urgent. "There are greater threats to Neverwinter as we speak. What happened at Ember is unfortunate, but I believe the one responsible has been punished for that crime." He took a deep breath, and addressed the both of us. "If we carry the accusation further to Luskan, I do not believe it is warranted, and furthermore, I am _still _the one who sets policy in this court." His clear green gaze met that of Casavir, and I saw the latter bowing his head, acknowledging the truth of what his uncle just said. " This is _not _about one man, or one village. This is about Neverwinter, and it is about protecting what exists. For the future."

"For the future." Casavir said slowly, as if passing a sentence. "Justice will come for them--in time, but not today."

The finality in his voice cut me like a knife. His old life was coming back to claim him, and if I didn't say something right now…

I was out of my chair before he finished that sentence.

"Is this what statecraft and diplomacy _really _is about?" I could hear the bitterness in my own voice, sour and acidic. "Because if it is, I'd better go back to the Flagon right now and let you sort this out _diplomatically_. I have sworn to uphold justice and truth in all manners and…"

"You better stop right there." Nasher was standing, too, green eyes blazing. "I can certainly understand how you, as Chosen of the Just One takes offence about what the Luskan ambassador attempted here, but expressing that in private is one thing. Accusing your sovereign with forgetting what the tenets of the god are about, however, verges on high treason." He lowered his voice. "Don't you think I didn't want to tell that shamelessly lying Luskan mage to go and shove her falseness and smug superiority to where the sun doesn't shine? I needed to make decisions every day like that, Chosen, every single day since I became ruler of this city, and every time I have to weigh the welfare and life of tens of thousands against that of one. That is _also _the Justice of the Even-Handed, and balancing all of that is what a good ruler does day by day, hour by hour." He slowly turned away, and I could suddenly see on the set of his shoulders that he was, indeed, very tired. "Don't you think He would have given me all these years of grace if I hadn't served him with every breath I take?"

I had quite some opportunity to ponder those words and their implications. Because that night, after all the guests departed and Guff and Weatherly closed the gate after the last carriage carrying its exhausted and happy inhabitants to their homes, the event we all feared and were furiously preparing for has arrived, with the inevitability of a Sword Mountains avalanche hurling towards a small village in one of its valleys.

The Tavorick Estate was attacked.


	45. La Belle Dame Sans Regrets

-1**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

_**Note: Looks like in the future the updates will be more widely spaced; expect 2-3 weeks between chapters due to RL issues.**_

_**Also, I introduced some deviations from the OC in this chapter regarding the Tavorick mansion's defense. It just made a lot more sense this way than the way it was presented in the game. Feel free to disagree, though.**_

**And the usual suspects:**

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections. It really helps me to get better, so please feel free to leave a review. Thanks for all of those who have already done so—you guys are great!**

**There is language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things. **

**For this chapter the following songs were playing, lending inspiration: _La Belle Dame Sans Regret_ from Sting's _Mercury Falling_, _Baltar Panics _from Bear McCreary's soundtrack for _Battlestar Galactica 1_, and _Mason's Walk/First Launch _from the soundtrack of the movie _The Rock_.**

**I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… The Pendwyr girl is entirely my fault, though. J**

**Chapter Forty-Five: La Belle Dame Sans Regret**

I was done with the ball after that meeting with the Luskan ambassador. I was very sure I couldn't stand any more smiles, bows, niceties and backstabbing, especially not after being lectured by the ruler of the city about tenets of my own faith, and _especially _in front of Casavir.

"I am done here." I said curtly, as soon as Nasher was out of earshot. "I will go up to my room, get this piece of fancy rag off and get into something more suitable for me; then I think I should make some rounds to make sure Ballard's crew has food and they didn't fall asleep while on guard." I rubbed at my eyes with my fist, not caring that the force I applied was just a bit too excessive and surely left the fine skin around them red and slightly swollen by the morning. "After all, we are here to be bodyguards, not fancy dancers."

"Maybe if you just talked to me it would help." Casavir said quietly.

That stung like a bee sting, maybe because with that simple sentence he let me know that yet again, he knew exactly what was going on inside my head. And right then and there, I could have cared less. I was even offended by it, almost, as if I felt he had no right knowing me better than my own self.

I spun on my heels to face him, ready to say that no, thanks, he was welcomed to go back hobnobbing with his uncle and all those fancy nobles and diplomats, _where he really belonged_…

The unsaid words hung in the air between us like a poisonous pus-green cloud, almost visible. I let the air out loudly, still barely audible to my ears over the pounding of my heart as I realized what I was about to say. I stared at him, with the visible swirls of pale teal signaling concern in his aura, and watched two colors bloom around the very core of his being I've never seen before: deep rose-petal red with a glowing center of gold so bright I had to close my eyes for a second.

_How could I ever measure up to that_? _And how could I ever deserve him_?

"Oh, gods, I am so sorry…" I felt myself slowly sink to the ground, like if I had too much to drink. My legs felt like lead, and my heart heavy with shame. My gown bunched up all around me like clouds of deep blue and black, ready to swallow me like the depths of the cold Sea of Swords, and at that moment, I would have welcomed the embrace of its icy waves.

"It's your upbringing again, isn't it?" He crouched down in front of me on the tiled floor of the winter garden, searching my face with that impossibly blue gaze of his. "You've never quite left West Harbor, it seems. " His voice was still calm and quiet, barely above a whisper, and yet it felt like every word he said blew through a veil I still stubbornly kept between reality and myself like the icy winter winds of the Mere.

"I am…" I shook my head, half-expecting it to split open and have all the mud I felt sloshing inside just spill out to the clean white stone tiles. "I am too much of a Harborman, still." I sniffed. "Which is rather ridiculous, considering none of my parents were, apparently."

"You were born and raised there, and by them. That can never be undone." He shook his head. "You're too hard on yourself, and think you can be remade to this new person, someone who can measure up to what's needed… what's required…while your true self is rebelling against that and tries to tell you that it needs not be that way."

"But there is no other way!" I felt some tears coming now, and I didn't want it, but I couldn't stop them. They came tumbling out, alongside with the words, called by the sight of those blooming colors in Casavir's aura. "Don't you understand? I am trying, trying so hard… but I just can't go on seeing people like that Luskan strut around and laugh into Nasher's face while an entire village lays dead… I can't watch people lying all the time, for hours, into each others' face, it hurts!" I rubbed at my eyes again; those tears stung, but the memory of just how much the falseness of this entire evening grated on me, on Tyr's Chosen, was even more painful. "And yet, I understand the necessity, and why it needs to be done, and that it's part of a bigger picture. I loathe myself for it, though, while at the same time I envy those who can do it, like Nasher… like you. How can I ever measure up to you? Or deserve you?"

He started to say something, then stopped, his mouth opening and closing for a couple of times actually, as if no words that formed on his tongue could quite express what he thought. I watched him, eyes wide open, dreading how he would react when he finally find the right way of saying it.

"That's madness." he finally said, in a rush. He straightened, hands on my arms, drawing me up with him. "I wish I could have a good talk with your stepfather just now… or your teacher, even. Or anyone who knew you as a child, to understand how all of these… walls you have inside you came to be." He tilted my head upwards, looking at me intently. "I really don't know how many times I will have to tell you this during the course of our lives, but I _will _keep repeating until it enters into that stubborn Harborman head of yours, my lady: there is nothing you should be ashamed of or feel lesser about. Tyr knows, I am not one to speak about self-doubts and judgment of character, but…" That strange, fierce look was on his face again, the same he wore in front of the tailor's shop. "Don't you understand? _I am strong because of you_… I am who I am now because we've met… it has nothing to do with my birth or upbringing. You gave me strength to see what I have to do and how I should walk when my path was all overgrown…without you I wouldn't be able to stand here and smile at all those people who whisper behind your back about how quaint Nasher's latest pet is. Would you let me to do the same for you?"

Kissing him in that battleship of a gown proved to be one of the most challenging things I've ever done, but it was also strangely exhilarating, standing there, almost a feet away, leaning forward, our bodies only touching at one single point. It felt _right _somehow, I thought vaguely, like being connected by a bright golden thread from the glowing heart of that beautiful _thing _in the middle of his aura.

"Promise?" he murmured into my mouth before we parted, then took my hand into his. "Like I said, I don't mind telling this to you over and over again, but please do consider that I do not wish to gray prematurely more than necessary."

"I will keep your vanity in mind, Sir Knight." I sighed, feeling still shaky and uncertain. "But I'm still done with this ball. Is that acceptable?"

"As you wish." He nodded, touching my cheek and smiling gently. "Still want to walk the perimeter one more time?"

I sure did… but before that, I really wanted to get out of Maitre Cirstandeor's creation.

And that posed a problem, which I realized as soon as we neared my room.

"Oh, crap." I said, actually stopping dead on my track just before my door.

"What's wrong?" Casavir said, with a frown on his face.

"Oh, it's…" I flung the door open and marched in, not even caring what that did to my gown. "How am I supposed to get out of this all by myself? I am so stupid…" I took a deep breath and said the first thing that came to my mind, "Unless, of course…"

I watched the deep crimson blush slowly spread on his face and neck as he understood what I meant.

"I hardly think it would be proper…" he started slowly, but I cut him off.

"This is an emergency. Seriously." I quickly closed the door behind him before he could retreat, turned and smiled as reassuringly as I could. "Besides, trust me, this is just like armor; otherwise I'd be able to manage it on my own. Please? You can keep your eyes closed…"

"And still manage to unhinge whatever I need to on this?" He eyed my gown like it was a particularly distrustful opponent on the battlefield. "Hardly possible."

"I trust you." My voice was barely audible. "I really do."

"I know." He sighed, then suddenly his face pulled into a wry grin. "The things I do for you, Pendwyr."

I grinned back; he remembered what I said to him while entering the ballroom, then.

"Think about it as returning a favor, Korranos." I turned my back and swept the stray tendrils of my hair forward from my shoulder.

"Yes, that probably _will_ help." he said dryly, stepping closer. "So… how does one start this?"

"I have no idea, I had this on this one time and it was El and Neesh helping…" I said a bit tensely as I felt his warm hand on my shoulder. "There should be a bunch of little clasps along the middle of the back… just be careful not to get tangled with the cords of the corset."

"Forgot about that." He sounded strained. "Does that mean that you need help with that as well?"

"One thing at a time." I tried to sound coolly professional. It was harder than I expected. I knew he was trying desperately not to touch skin, but since this was a tightly fitting gown and its bodice, there was pretty much no way of avoiding it. But I needed the help, and yes, I trusted him, and after fumbling a bit with the first two clasps trying to figure out the opening, he made a quick work of it. I tried not to think about how close he stood, tried not to pay attention to the fact that every time he exhaled, I could feel its warmth on my hair.

"I was afraid of that." he muttered as I felt the last clasp being undone. "There." I heard him step away.

"Thank you." I inhaled and glanced over my shoulder. Yep, he retreated to the window, and I could see that he was still blushing, even though he turned his back on me. "Anyhow… let me get this off…" I shrugged off the gown as fast as I could, hesitated about the underskirts and then realized the corset could not be unlaced entirely if I left those on, started to say something rather rude and then changed that to a quiet "Oh bother" instead.

"I heard that." Casavir remarked, still not moving.

"Then you know it's mild compared to what I would normally have said, so shush." I said, mildly irritated, and managed to find the ties of the underskirts and take those off by myself. I hung them and the gown as fast as I could, desperately trying to figure out how to do this without… well, without getting us into a situation where… My mind refused to go there, but there was nothing to it.

"Okay. I think you are just as unfamiliar with corsets as I am, right?" I said, deciding to approach this professionally.

"Paladin. Chapterhouse. Armor." He answered in single-word sentences, which told me two things: one, just how uncomfortable he was and two, that he tried to make the best out of it. I had to smile.

"Well, yes, same here, minus chapterhouse, just substitute West Harbor there." I muttered. "Can we just think about it as armor, then?"

"You usually wear _something _under armor." he pointed out from the other end of the room, but I saw that some of the tension went out of his shoulders.

"Well, I am assuming you would only loosen the laces, right?" I would have wiggled my eyebrows at him, but it would have been useless, since he could not see. "So as long as you keep your eyes on that task and then go back where you are now, I can just put on actual clothes and we can start checking on the wards. The guests probably are all gone by now, I saw them start leaving as we sneaked past the ballroom."

"Loosen laces. Sure." he muttered under his breath. "In all my years of training, I'd never have thought it'd come to this." He squared his shoulders is if just before battle and turned. "And, of course, you have absolutely no idea how this makes me feel."

"Actually…" I said, still with mild irritation in my voice, "…given the aftereffects of that stupid spell of mine, I can feel it just fine, thank you. "

"Oh." There was definitely a sheepish grin, or at least the beginnings of it. "Pardon me; I presumed."

"No, you're right, it is probably slightly different for you." I tried to sound objective. "And especially so since I asked you… I mean, I hope you know that I wouldn't have if…" I stopped, feeling some heat creeping down from my forehead through my neck and shoulders; he was definitely looking me over, yes, indeed, and there was no objectivity in that look either. In fact…

_Come on, Rig, just try to be aloof and celestial about this._

"We could talk about… um… some really boring element of doctrinal law, if that makes you feel better." I offered tentatively, as it was my turn to show my back to him again.

_You and me both, actually_, my human side supplied, snickering.

"Probably will need it." That made me almost feeling like I was back in West Harbor with old friends. "Should we start with the old debate about how many celestials can dance on a head of a pin at the same time?"

"Depends on the pin, of course." I giggled again, but for another reason, as I felt the first loop of the corset finally coming looser. "Ow. Watch for tickle spots, please."

"I'd say it depends on your definition of 'time', my lady." There was a brief pause, then a sigh. "You didn't tell me there were clasps on this one under the lacing as well."

"I am full of surprises." I shrugged. "Seriously, probably because I had forgotten. So… anyhow. Definition of time, you say?" I tried not to be more aware of his closeness than I already was.

"Time _and _space, actually. And whether celestials are corporeal." The problem with this whole arrangement, I had to belatedly realize, was that I didn't count on all the exposed skin on my back, as the corset pulled free--and how it seemed every pore of me was aware of him and the way his fingers brushed against my spine.

"That's a lot of variables to consider." I managed to say, in what I hoped was a thoughtful voice.

"This is theology." I somehow knew there was a shrug accompanying that sentence. "It's all variables and unknowns, short of personal experience."

"So, if we posit that celestials are… not corporeal?" I asked. _No, I really just should have asked him to find Shandra or Neesh_.

"Ah, see, in that case, since they are still _beings_, they should have location, but not space… not subject to rules of limitations of the Prime Material Plane. Therefore, time should not apply either. It doesn't matter whether it is at once on the head of the pin, or after each other on the entire continent of Maztica." Listening to him arguing theology wasn't helpful either; after all, it was the same voice that whispered into my ear on Ophala's private terrace that night at the _Mask_…

"No spatial extension, you mean?" I knew I sounded a bit distracted as soon as I said it.

"Well, that's one opinion, of course." He was almost done; I had to grab at the top of the corset in front to keep it from sliding off me.

"And the other…?" I chanced, clutching my hands on my chest like a prayer.

"That they must have some kind of corporeality, at least a temporal one--that's where time comes into play again, so to speak." He paused. "You are actually one of the proofs for that side's arguments, my lady."

"Huh?" I knew I must not have sounded very intelligent at that moment, but honestly, all I could concentrate on was keeping the entire blasted piece of whalebone-stuffed silk and lace from falling on the floor.

"Aasimars come from celestials…" he supplied patiently. "I think having a body is needed for…"

"Ah. Oh. Yes. Right." I probably sounded like a novice on their first day. "So- full nonreality or partial incarnation on the Prime Plane and thus temporality?"

"The two most prevailing opinions, yes. There is an extensive collection of writings in the library of the Halls of Justice, if you wish to study this problem further."

"I shall definitely think about that." I said dryly. "Given my ancestry, after all." I successfully resisted the urge to shrug. That would have been a bad move. "Um… are we done here?" I asked politely, keenly aware that indeed, we were, but equally aware of the fact that his hand was resting just an inch below my waistline on my bare skin.

"Yes. Of course. My lady." he said quickly, stepping back. "Do you wish me to leave now?"

"Unnecessary." I edged towards the huge dresser where I packed all my clothes. "Just go back to the window, if you will… this won't take but a smidge of time, really." I waited until I was sure he was safely out of reach, and breathed a huge sigh of relief. Which, when I looked at it hard as I pulled out items of leather and roughspun wool was definitely mingled with some regret over what… well, what didn't happen because, let's face it, Casavir was, and always been, a perfect gentleman and noble knight, in the best sense of the word.

Of course, I reminded myself as I pulled a tunic over my head, this also meant that according to the complicated dance of courtship we started back at the Mask, he was now at liberty of…

And that finally made me blush.

_Great, just great. _I fumed, busying myself with the laces of my jerkin._ I really ought to be at my sharpest right now, we are contracted to defend someone's life, and what am I doing? Wishing if Casavir had given in to those mutual flashes of red and lavender in our auras just five minutes ago? Right in the middle of a potential demonic attack?_

"I ought to ask El for some herbs." I muttered under my breath. Luckily, the pair of trews I randomly pulled out was baggy enough that I didn't have to pull off my boots to put them on. And silk stockings be damned. They either survived this night or they didn't. I was proud of myself though, for puling off the thigh sheath of the dagger without falling on my face.

"Um, Casavir?" I said, glancing up from where I sat on the edge of my bed. "I am decent now. You can turn around." I fished for the case of the jewels at my throat and hair, and started to carefully remove them. "And… well… thank you." I smiled at him, still a bit nervous. "It is good indeed to realize yet again that you are also a good friend."

Well, that sure came out a bit awkward, but I hoped he understood what I meant.

"I… appreciate that, my lady." He did smile then, and I had to realize that he probably didn't have much opportunity to hear that from anyone in his life. The 'being a friend' part, that is.

Yet again, I had a distinct advantage over him, despite his origins… and yet again, the knowledge that my childhood in West Harbor was not that awful after all, enveloped me in its warmth. I suspected part of why I was able to form those attachments with my companions during my long road to Neverwinter and beyond was thanks to the way I was raised and the way I formed those friendships with Amie and Bevil at an early age.

"I suspect you didn't have too many friends, then?" I voiced my thoughts, a bit worried.

"You know what happened to the only one." he answered quietly. "Being a highborn raised in a chapterhouse doesn't lend itself to easy attachments. We all formed some kind of camaraderie, but when you know you can practically die on your first assignment and you are constantly dedicating all of your attention to your god and his tenets, friendship tends to slip aside. At least for most of us." he added. "I know some of my former fellow acolytes formed deep bonds, but…" he sighed, "…I am afraid I wasn't the most approachable person even… even before Matty died."

"That's mildly put." I muttered. I remembered how distant he seemed at our first meeting and after, how unapproachable and… somehow not quite there. As if he already resigned himself to lose his life in battle, and soon. I watched him while in his camp at the mountains before we set out to find the Waterdeep ambassador: he never raised his voice with his men, but there was no gentleness or friendly gestures either. If anything, they treated him with a mixture of fear and awe, like a battle-icon or statue that came alive to help people in times of need in the old legends. He definitely did not belong, and they made him feel that, despite their attempts not to.

"Rather aloof and unavailable, you mean?" he said, watching me securing the clasps of my jerkin.

"Rather, I'm afraid." I nodded, picked up my sword belt and buckled it on, with a happy little sigh. All was well with the world. "I mean, Aevan warned me that he was the exception, not the norm as far as Tyr's holy warriors are concerned, but still…" I shrugged; I knew it wasn't the most eloquent way of putting it, but I was never good at expressing my feelings.

"I think lately I was becoming less afraid of forming… attachments, don't you think?" he asked quietly, and I almost took him seriously, until I saw those sparks in his eyes betraying him.

"Hmm." I said, feigning indifference. I did it very badly; I felt my breathing speed up as he stepped closer. "I ought to consider that."

"Please do." He brushed my cheek with a feather-like touch and I swallowed. It was really quite unfair; although I suspected in a way this was a payback for making him practically undress me.

"A very peculiar form of reminding me that I really should have asked you to get Neesh or El instead." There; I voiced the feeling. I was proud of myself. I was also, unfortunately, way too close to him, and every fiber of my being was reacting to him again in a way that was not the least chaste. I was also very much aware of the fact that this was my room, and there were only us in it, and that everyone else was probably still way too busy with the immediate aftermaths of the ball to start missing us for a while.

He knew it, too. There was some deep desperation in the way he took me in his arms, drawing me to him so tight that it almost hurt.

"Ah, lady, lady, lady." he whispered, his breath hot in my ear. "What are you doing to me?"

I felt myself trembling as I turned my head upwards, aching to meet his lips with mine… just to be stopped by the mother of all headaches striking between my temples like I've never felt before.

"Shit!" I swore, half-yelping, stumbling backwards and shaking my head. Small white circles of pain were still dancing in front of my wide open eyes. "Shit, shit, shit… It's the wards. The wards…" I repeated, grabbing Casavir's arm with such a force that he winced. "They are activated… something is coming."

By then we both heard the sound of running feet on the corridor, and in the next second my door burst open, allowing Sand in, quite out of breath.

"Good, my hunch was right." Sand panted, looking at us with a tense expression on his face. "Looks like we'll get company. The wards are all going off, trying to shed magical energy like fireworks. I see you are already out of your finery, Arrighan… good. Some armor wouldn't be amiss, though."

"How much time we've got, you think?" I asked, stepping to my armor stand and starting to pull off pieces. "And where is everyone else?"

"Most of them are with Tavorick." Sand said, handing me one of my sabatons. "Naturally. I think Grobnar is fixing up some of those blastglobe barrels."

"Heavens save us!" I lifted an arm. "Hopefully not alone…" I glanced at Casavir. "Go, get your armor on… I can figure out these buckles by myself, really."

"Just wanted to make sure." he said calmly and nodded. Sand raised an eyebrow, but refrained from commenting, for which I was most grateful. "I'll get downstairs and start moving everyone to the safe place, then."

The agreed-on safe place in the event of the attack was the large room called the Old Hall: one of the oldest parts of the mansion, it obviously was the original great hall, before the fancy marble-covered one with the wide glass windows was built. It had three doors, but only tiny windows set in thick walls, and was mostly used for storage these days.

It took me about fifteen minutes, according to the fancy Neverwintan clock on my bedstand to shake myself into my armor; Sand was handing me pieces here and there, but he was so tense, watching for noises and for some kind of change in the air with his arcane senses that he really was not much use. My headache grew into a persistent throbbing behind my temples; I could feel how the wards we placed worked and emitted almost audible stress signals as whatever wanted to break in probed the defenses. According to a short and terse explanation from Sand, what we really had to worry about was the doors downstairs.

"A house is most vulnerable at its points where it was originally intended to be entered." he said. "That's why you place wards over doorframes, and only occasionally over windows."

"Great." I made a face as I took my helmet under my arm. "Just fucking great. They want to come through the doors, we should just all cling to windows, then?"

"Don't be silly, Arrighan." Sand frowned. "You know that there's no guarantee they wouldn't be coming that route if the wards over the doors prove to be too much. We purposefully warded that route stronger than the windows… and I don't even recall we did anything to this floor."

"Shit." Yes, I was under stress all right. Swearing was back again if full force, promise to Prior Hlam be damned. "All those guests in the other wing… and the staff…"  
"I think…" Sand said, tilting his head towards the corridor, "…that it's already being addressed."

I heard voices, raised in argument—to my greatest shock, one of them was Casavir's. I didn't remember him ever shouting like that, not even in the heat of battle.

"Come on." I said to Sand and shoved the door open, marching out. "Need to see what this is about."

"I bet." Sand muttered, following after me.

We found Captain Ballard and Lord Tavorick facing Casavir; Tavorick with defiantly set chin, still wearing his ball finery, Ballard in his full Greycloak armor.

"He made my girl leave." Tavorick said petulantly, shoving his cane in Ballard's face. "Pretty girl like that would keep any man alive and well, even a spotty old wart like me. That is what Nasher wants, isn't it? To keep me from dropping dead? Eh?"

"I'm sorry, m'lord, but she had to leave. Lord Nasher is concerned about m'lord's well being, in light of the recent deaths of m'lord's associates." Ballard carefully took a half-step back, just outside of the cane's range, and continued to stare at a point just above Casavir's shoulder on the wall.

"Bah! Nonsense!" Tavorick shook his head, sending a glare my direction. "If Nasher cared about m'lord's well being, he'd buy me a potion of youth. Failing that, he'd send me a harem. Eighty-four girls, one for each of my years. Yes? Maybe?"

"What's going on?" I said, looking at the three of them. "I thought everyone should be downstairs in the safe room."

"M'lord Tavorick requested to be escorted up here after Miss Melia was asked to leave with the other guests and most of the staff, as per agreement, ma'am." Ballard answered in an even tone, standing at attention. "I was going to undertake guarding him."

"And meanwhile, downstairs…" I shook my head. I understood now why Casavir raised his voice earlier. "M'lord, there's no time. An attack is imminent and you need to be with everyone else." Tavorick started to say something, but I cut him off. "I am sorry, m'lord, but this is a military operation, under direct orders from Lord Nasher. You will be escorted back downstairs; we cannot divide the defenses."

"And there's more." Casavir was grim. "We apparently have quite a number of guests in the other wing who also need to be coming with us. Sergeant Deorwin is dealing with the remaining staff at the moment, I am told, but someone should get to…"

"Sand." I said quickly, turning to the moon elf. "You are good at words and diplomacy. I need you to get those highfalutin' folks from the other wing down to the Old Hall-- can you do that? In about five minutes, I'm afraid."

"Ah, dear girl, you certainly know how to ask for the impossible." he answered with a forced smile. "I'll, however, do my best."

"That should be enough." I nodded. "Meanwhile, let's get going."

"I go with Sand." Casavir said decisively. "Just in case he needs backup with the… more difficult guests."

"Thank you." That was a welcome relief: he certainly carried authority; besides being a noble himself, as a paladin of Tyr, he lent credibility to the sudden threat's seriousness, which was just what we needed.

I felt better from that, while Captain Ballard, my growing headache and I clunked down the stairs, carefully shepherding Lord Tavorick into the dimness of the Old Hall, where we found a somewhat organized chaos. The rest of my companions were scattered around the more or less calm skeleton house staff, some still strapping on pieces of armor with their help, some helping Grobnar with some pieces of those carts and barrels in the hallway earlier to build a barricade along the three doors of the place.

"By your leave, ma'am, I decided to barricade all the exits." Ballard was looking at me with a frown.

"Given that we discussed it earlier as a possible course of action, I see no problems with that." I adjusted a strap on my shoulder absentmindedly and nodded to Elanee who handed me a small vial containing one of her concoctions.

"I can see the veins standing out on your forehead." she said quietly. "A bad one, isn't it?"

"I appear to be attuned to those wards just a bit more than I would like to." I said sourly. "Thanks, El."

"How much time we have, you think?" The rest of my companions slowly gathered around us; Neeshka looked pale and van, red eyes almost gleaming in the sparsely lit interior of the hall.

"I was assured that the wards will buy us time." I answered truthfully. "Beyond that…" I shrugged. "Sand and Casavir will bring down the rest of the guests from the east wing as soon as they manage to convince them. We can pray that the wards hold until then…" I looked at Ballard.

"The rest of your crew?"

"Finn and Deorwin are out there to gather some tables and such. " Ballard flashed an unexpected smile and lowered his voice. "The old man won't miss them. This place has rooms that haven't been touched in decades, perhaps more."

"Agreed; I saw the armory earlier." I threw a glance towards a pile of weapons that were obviously removed from that room; Bishop was busy sorting them and gruffly sizing up some of the staff as if to see if anyone should be trusted with sharp and pointy objects of death.

"Are some of those the blastglobe barrels we found earlier?" I waved my arm towards where Grobnar was directing two men. "I'd like to place those near the doors."

Ballard scratched his chin.

"Not a bad plan. A single arrow shot would probably set them off. Could take down half a dozen attackers, if we time it right. Deorwin's well practiced in handling blast globes, and the like, if you want him to help your gnome with that."

"Two who knows how to work with those are better than one." I raised my voice. "Oy, Nar!" Grobnar looked up, almost-white hair all messed up, eyes glowing with excitement.

"Yes, Lady Arrighan?"

"Can you stop that for a sec and come here? I got a question for you." To deal with Grobnar and his… eccentricity, one needed some subterfuge. At the same time, after being in his company for a while, I started to have a faint and nagging suspicion that his constant expression of wide-eyed surprise and total absentmindedness masked a very sharp mind and iron will needed to maintain such a façade for a long time.

Or not. I still couldn't quite decide yet.

"Where were you thinking of putting those?' I asked as he bounced over; he had some weapon-like instruments hanging from his belt alongside the small mandolin he preferred to bring on campaigns as his musical instrument.

"Ah, erm, now, that's a good question." He looked around. "I just got so excited about having those, if you know what I mean… I mean, blast globes against demons, it ought to be good, right?"

"I would think so." I said cautiously. "How about near the door to the mail entrance hall?"

"Splendid!" Grobnar exclaimed. "Let me just…"

"Hold it a bit, Nar; we'll have more folks coming in that way. I'm not sure that they'd appreciate bumping into…"

"Ah. I see." He nodded. " I guess I better tune up this thing then, in case we need some…" He trailed off, settling himself on a sack on the floor, humming to himself and running his fingers through soft cords on melodies on his mandolin. They sent oddly soothing waves through me and I saw that the ebb of tightly controlled panic lurking so close to the surface in the hall definitely lowered somewhat following a few of those.

I smiled. Yes, Grobnar and his music. There was a reason I didn't go anywhere without him.

Just then, Deorwin and Finn started to drag in some tables, some people went over to help, general shuffling and some semblance of order started to form… until the guests from upstairs showed up and yet again I had to realize that dealing with nobles was not my strong suit.

"Can we just have them sit over there in the corner and not do anything?" I asked Casavir who looked a bit exhausted. "I hope the men are not offering to assist in the fight."

"The men will not." I heard a calm, clipped voice behind me. "Me, on the other hand…"

"Mother Superior." I tried not to sound like my teeth were clenched. "I thought you've returned to the City."

"I was offered Lord Cyran's hospitality, while my escort decided not to stay." Hadewiga Brangen, out of her ball finery and dressed in a simple tunic and pants had an even more commanding personality. She looked around. "I don't suppose there's any loaner armor here? I wasn't expecting battle after a Yule ball--all my things are back at the Halls of Justice guesthouse."

"We have some hauberks and bracers in that corner, ma'am." Captain Ballard bristled by, back to his military formalness. "I'm afraid that's all, but…"

"It will have to do." She nodded curtly. "And I see that other young man is sorting through some weapons… good. I'll see what we have. Do keep me apprised of the situation as it develops. I shall endeavor to calm my fellow guests as calm as possible in the meantime."

"If the impending attack is proportionate to the headache I am having…" I said slowly, looking after her as she headed towards the assorted weapons Bishop was messing with, "…we could use her help."

"We probably could use about a half a dozen Brothers and Sisters here." Casavir nodded grimly. "The hard part will be to keep all those people from panicking and bolting."  
"I know, but we'll just have to do our best." I rested a hand on the cold metal of his shoulder plate. "Thank you for… getting them here."

"Sand is really good at words." He smiled thinly. "I rarely had to speak; I got the feeling I was there merely to loom in the background with my holy symbol visible to lend the air of credible threat."

"Well, as long as they just keep quiet and do what they're told." I threw a glance at the maybe half a dozen primly dressed noblemen and -women who sat on hastily collected chairs and benches with tightly pressed lips and the air of 'we're putting up with this but as soon as this nonsense is over we take it to Lord Nasher'.

Which was just fine with me. If there was an 'after', that is.

The headache broke through the effects of Elanee's potion. I flinched, raising my hand to my temples.

"We're getting close." Sand remarked wryly. "I could feel that assault myself. Arrighan, if you want those blast globes in place, I suggest…"

"Yeah, let's do it." I looked at Ballard. 'Would you…?"

The captain nodded and raised his voice.

"Deorwin, heard the Squire. See that it's done as she says. One barrel on either side of the door, and make sure Finn takes a sighting, so we've got a clear shot."

"All right." I took a deep breath. "Let's figure out the positions then we need to talk to the crowd. Captain, where are you planning to position your men?"

"Guff and Weatherly are already at the front door." Ballard answered, a thoughtful frown on his forehead. "Those two never quit their bickering, but it keeps them wide awake, so we're not likely to be taken by surprise. Finn and Deorwin I'll keep here, with me, in front of this door." He flashed a smile, full of teeth and almost unchained ferocity; I started to understand the nickname he was given after seeing that.

"That way, if trouble comes looking for Lord Tavorick, it'll have to pass the three of us. You'll be the last line of defense, with your companions, if that suits you, ma'am. If anyone manages to get past you, well... seems to me they'll have well earned the old man's attention."

He already told me that every one of his men fought with him in the Luskan Wars scarcely ten years ago, so I knew we were dealing with professionals here. Well, I had my doubts about Finn: he must have been no more than sixteen back then, and that painfully withdrawn and shy way of his probably masked some scars not only on his body, but on his soul as well.

"A good plan." I said. "Anyone thinks we can make use of any of the guests?" I jerked my head towards the corner with the nobles. "Or anyone else?"

"Might be more hindrance then help." Ballard said cautiously, throwing a glance at Casavir reflexively, and I smiled inwards; he was falling back to the habit of regarding him as his commanding officer again. "That is, unless you think we should, sir, ma' am."

"The only one we should even think about would be Mother Superior." Casavir said, tapping his chin with a finger. "Probably as a last line of defense and to keep the non-combatants back."

"I can do that." She obviously heard us; buckling on a weapon belt on the slightly too long hauberk she found to keep in tight, Hadewiga Brangen walked up to us and stood, slightly leaning on a full-size halberd with ornately decorated blade. I had no idea Bishop brought one of those down, but apparently it was her first choice; an odd one for a paladin, although not unheard of. "Even with this headache."

"You have it too." I said quietly. She nodded curtly.

"Hard not to; I can't even remember when I felt this much power that's obviously from the Lower Planes trying to probe sacred wards." She shrugged. "But we're not here to hear an old crone reminiscing…You're obviously in charge, so for the duration of this emergency, I accept you as my superior." She inclined her head to me formally. "May the Lord of Justice keep our blades sharp and our minds keen."

The rest of the group watched the three of us as we kneeled in a triangle, linked hands, and chanted the ritual words of invoking Tyr's blessing and his protection against creatures of Evil. I heard, as if through a shimmering curtain of silver, Elanee and Sand, readying some spells as well, and when I lifted my head I saw Qara flicking her fingers in the air for one of her preemptive magics.

We were getting close. I could feel the wards trembling as they tried to contain the energy directed towards them; they got weaker and weaker with every breath we took, it seemed. The quiet talk of the civilians in the hall died down, as they finally felt the oppressive air settle over them.

"Here we go." Bishop swore, backed up a bit and pulled up his bow at the ready. Karnwyr next to him was growling slow and steady for a while now, hackles raised, ears flattened. "Anyone knows where those two idiots are?"

"Those two…" I slid my helmet in place, waited for Casavir to buckle it at the back, then returned the favor. "Captain, it might be a good time to call your men back from the hall."

"Definitely." Hadewiga Brangen pursed her lips and indicated the torches set in the wall sconces of the hall. "I'm afraid some of the wards just collapsed."

At the same time she said that, my headache flared up, exactly at the same time as the torches on one side of the hall started to flicker out in front of our eyes. I heard terrified gasps from the civilians as the flames came back in a blink of an eye: but burning with an eerie blue flame, casting long shadows everywhere and making the hall look even darker than it was.

"By the gods…" Deorwin muttered, taking a step backwards.

"Not the gods, I think." Ballard's face still wore that feral grin, looking even more fierce in that blue light.. "Weapons to hand, boys."

"Listen up, all." I heard Casavir's voice ring out, loud and clear, using all the authority he had. "Everyone stays calm, and everyone stays together. Keep to the back of the hall, backs to the walls. Get the chairs and other furniture in front of you, whatever you find. Anyone has knives, keep them at the ready, but do not, repeat, do _not _move out or do anything. This is why we're here." He looked them over as everyone started to shuffle towards the back "If you do what I say, you'll live. Whatever comes through, we'll deal with them. You do nothing unless Squire Pendwyr, Mother Superior Brangen or myself tells you to. Is that understood?"

I knew there were some men in that group who in any other circumstances would have objected to that… but none of them were alone here, and none of them carried their armor or weapons.

"We won't cause panic, Korranos." muttered one of the older men, shaking his head. "We're all of Neverwinter, after all." He took a deep breath. "May Tyr be with us."

"Indeed, Lord Favern." As Casavir closed his visor, I couldn't see his eyes any more, but I could feel the waves of calm determination radiating off his aura as he turned to face the door.

"Your men, Captain Ballard." I said. "We need them back here."

Ballard licked his lips.

"We might need them as frontline defense, Squire. Their experience…"

I looked at him, and remembered what Casavir said about that disobedient streak running in him.

"That _wasn't _a request, Captain." I said with clipped precision. I _had to_ nip this in the bud, and now.

He was just about to open his mouth to say something when there was a booming sound, something splintering, torn asunder, then heavy running footsteps, and Guff and Weatherly came through the door as if all the powers of the Hells were behind them.

And maybe there were; judging by those noises, and the strength of my headache, we were in for some visitors.

"Squire! A horde of little demons!" Guff yelled towards us, cradling an arm to his chest. "They burst through the front hall and forced us back!

"Aye, and something else, too, back behind the rest. " Weatherly leaned against a pillar and panted, red blood gushing down his side. "Whatever it is, it's big!"

"You're hurt! Get yourselves behind us, and tend to those wounds!" I snapped, almost instinctively, at them.

"Aye, Squire." Weatherly straightened, motioned to Guff. "A few bandages, and we'll be back in the fray. Though Guff'll still be ugly."

My companions moved as if in unison, taking up positions around me. I threw a glance to my left, expecting to find Khelgar's familiar form, but instead of the dwarf, I saw Bishop, still expressionless, getting his bow at the ready.

"Look sharp, holy girl." he muttered. "We're earning our pay tonight. They're coming through the door."

"Just make sure you don't hit frendlies, ranger." I barked back at him. I smelled _them _before they even got close--that cloying sweet-and-rotten smell of evil boiled into the room before the squealing horde of about a dozen little demons was upon us.

Time slowed down again, as I slipped, without thinking and with considerable ease, into the god's battle-time. Sounds deepened, movements slowed down: figures stuck almost in mid-motion, like insects struggling their last in almost-solidified pieces of warm honey- colored amber. It was eerie knowing that in the entire room there were only two people who were in the same timeframe as me—Tyr's other two paladins, both more experienced than I could probably hold this much longer than I, though, so I'd better made the best out of it while it lasted.

I ducked under one of Bishop's arrows, slipped around Sand's missile storm and Elanee's entanglement spell, watched Shandra's shortsword on its rise and Neeshka's rapier moving forward sluggishly, while slicing into thick bodies of winged abominations with the increased speed of my borrowed time.

This is what it must have felt for dwellers of the Upper Planes to enter our world, I suspected. This wasn't the first time I reflected on the fact that the battle-time of paladins (and I knew other orders who followed different gods had their version as well) must have been a skill handed down from teachers not from this plane. Aevan told me when he first started to teach the underpinnings of the techniques—breathing and focus, with carefully placed evocative words—that it seemed to him I had a bit more affinity to it than some of my brethren. Yet another manifestation of my blood… but despite that, I found that as easy as I could slip into it, it was still disturbingly easy to have me yanked out of it as well, by a sound, a smell, a movement noticed from the corner of the eye. My concentration skills required honing, and this wasn't the first time I resolved myself to rectify that—if and when time allowed. It wasn't exactly that I needed to go on a retreat, but the more ethereal fundamentals of my religion definitely needed some polishing in order to be able to progress on the path Tyr set me out to walk.

That first wall of attackers didn't get past us to where Ballard and his men were forming the second line of defense; except one. I watched the High Inquisitor of Waterdeep step around the captain from her position, thrust the halberd forward, the violence of that move evident even in slow-time as it struck the fire mephit in front of her. With the same thrust turned to a swing, she pulled the weapon up, slicing across the air and the demon's wings so it fell to the ground, its shriek sounding piercingly sharp. Hadewiga Brangen lifted a booted foot and brought it down on the demon's misshapen head. The resulting crunch reverberated through the hall, and, predictably enough, yanked me out of the god's time fast enough so that I lost my footing and scrambled back, just in time to avoid a horizontal thrust from Neeshka's offhand main gauche finishing up the last demon in front of me.

"Thanks, hon." I panted, staring up into her crimson eyes.

"Any time, Your Holiness." she snarled back defiantly, yanking her weapon out of the body and shaking demon blood off the blade. "Just in case you doubted which side I was on."

"Why would I?" I accepted her offered hand as she sheathed her rapier and got to my feet. "I know who you are."

"Now that's just lovely, ladies, but we won't be stopping the next wave with being all sloppy and sentimental." Trust Bishop to make the day with another of his remarks. "And they'll be coming again for sure." He shrugged, as Neeshka took a deep breath to answer him in style and turned away. "But of course, who am I to give advice to the commander of this whole mission? I'll just go and collect my arrows…"

"Remind me that he's not with the demons, okay?" Neeshka whispered. "He tries to sow discord like others take breath, you know?"

"The next wave will be worse." Ballard remarked from behind us, looking at Guff and Weatherly sitting on the ground, trying to get enough strength to get up from where they tended to each other's wounds. "Your orders, Squire?"

I looked at his squad, looked at the civilians huddling by the wall, parchment-white faces and lips murmuring prayers to whatever god they worshipped, and made my decision.

"Stay back by the civilians and use your bows against any hostiles that break through our line."

"Stay where you are." Casavir lifted his voice. "Remember what I told you; we'll protect you. By our oath we serve."

I turned to the Waterdeep inquisitor.

"Mother Superior, do you wish to remain with the last line of defense?"

"You did rather well so far without me at the frontline." she answered, busying herself by trying to scrape unidentifiable demon parts from her boots on a precious Calimshan rug. "I'll try to keep Lord Tavorick alive here if it's all the same to you."

"I knew you were fond of me, Hadewiga, dear." I heard Tavorick's half-mumbled remark; Shandra next to me giggled.

"Sure, Cyran, I came back from Waterdeep just to spend this night stacking up demons at your feet." Mother Superior Brangen answered, rather irritably. "Now will you get out of the way, sit down with the rest of your useless blueblood friends and let the professionals do their job, for Tyr's sake?"

And just in time, too. The impending arrival of the second wave of demons was heralded by the ear-deafening noise of the blastglobe barrels exploding.

"Nice!" I heard Grobnar and Qara say in unison, wide grin on their faces.

"That might have taken out a couple." The gnome said, strumming some chords on his mandolin. I felt something shimmering around me as his magic took hold; by now I recognized one of his most potent spells, his song of regeneration.

"Fire mephits." Neeshka shook her head. "Unless they have others this time, I doubt it. They are immune…"

I never got the chance to ask how she knew so much about infernal subspecies; we had to get ready to fight again. And Neeshka was right; those screaming little monsters indeed were immune to the fire damage. And they brought reinforcements, too.

"I hate succubi!" I heard Mother Hadewiga behind me; she sounded more annoyed than anything. "Watch out; they drain your life force; don't let the touch you!" Two silken swishing sounds and a shriek accompanied the sentence, but if she said anything else, I didn't hear it--slipped back to slow-time again, and just in time, as another of those scantily-clad, faintly blue-colored statuesque females run through the door and straight towards me. Then another, and another… I gave brief thanks to Tyr for the training I got from Aevan, and got to work.

As I had to discover, it's not easy to fight when you specifically have to avoid body contact with the enemy. I didn't get a chance to ask the Inquisitor if the drain worked through full plate armor as well, but somehow I had no desire to test it. I was very relieved as one after other our three magic user's spells fizzled and whistled and hurled next to my ear and slammed into the attackers, who luckily all had to come through the same door.

For a while, that is. Then they managed to break through the barricade to the northern door and things got heated for a little bit. Shandra had to be dragged to the back to be healed up by Elanee, and we got a gap in the line. Captain Ballard jumped in almost immediately, and that was a welcome relief, even in slow-time.

Except that he didn't just stay in line and waited for the enemy to come to us. No, after he dispatched one of the mephitis with a savage but precisely placed swipe, he just kept going forward, breaking the defense line again, and simply would… not… stop…

I yanked myself out of the god's time on purpose this time, swearing, lunging after him, knowing full well that if I do, the line will be truly broken and the gap will be wide enough so that more of those demons can get through where…

"CAPtain BALlard, GET your ASS back on the FUCKING line!" I stopped dead on my tracks and yanked my head to the side. Casavir's visor was up, and it was his voice, but I've never heard him speaking like that before. "NOW!"

And just in time, too. I could barely reach the two demons already almost on top of him; and shame or not, paladin's code of not, I grabbed his neck, yanked on him as strongly as I could (he was a heavyset man in his forties, in armor), and jumped backwards, thrusting my left arm in front of me, uttering the words of power that sent searing silver-white light straight through the perfectly shaped breasts of one creature.

"Eat that, Abyss-spawn!" I yelled the top of my lungs, while spinning, ducking some outstretched claws and made sure Ballard was back where he was supposed to.

"Don't… do that… again. Ever." I hissed at Ballard, then I sidestepped, until my back touched Casavir's backplate, lifted my sword and yelled again: one of Sand's cold spells, recited from one of the myriad scrolls he carried on his scroll-belt, fizzed by my thigh. "Watch the aim, Pointy-Ear!" Another swipe across, elbow lifted, slight drop of the knee then forward; I could hear Casavir's sword making that particular humming sound only a sacred blade can make when hitting tainted flesh, slightly lower-pitched then mine as we both hit our opponents, coming at us a bit too tight.

"Perfect!" I grinned behind my visor, feeling the silver-and-crimson battle-glory enveloping me. "Next?"

There was no next; it seemed we got a reprieve. But things didn't quite look good; Shandra was still bleeding, Bishop was almost out of arrows, Grobnar was huddling over his mandolin's ruined frame (it got knocked out of his hands and shattered on the marble floor), and the civilians really started to panic.

"Listen to me, Pendwyr. I got a warded crypt downstairs." I heard Tavorick's raspy voice behind me, and his cane tapped my back. "They'd only be able to come through one door, and it should take them some time to penetrate the wards. Back down to the Great Hall, out the western door, and down a stair. "  
I turned and stared at him.

"And you're telling this to us now?" I think I started shaking a bit; Casavir put a hand on my arm. I threw an irritated glance at him. "What, you think he was testing me or something?"

"If that's true, we better hurry." he said calmly, only breathing a bit more heavily than normal. I was still slightly in shock that he used swearwords, although given the situation, I understood. That was pretty much the only thing that could get through to Ballard; probably something from their shared past. "We both know the third barricade will not hold much longer."

"And if they got through us…" I glanced towards the huddling civilians, at Mother Hadewiga's stone-etched face, as she leaned on her halberd, watching us, watching what I will decide… letting me decide…

I looked back at Casavir, the calm azure of his eyes only partially shaded by the god's battle-fury, felt the grip of his gauntleted hand tighten on my vambrace…

"The crypt, then." I said, lifting my voice. "Everyone, we'll make a run for it." Some voices were raised in protect, but were cut off. "Lord Tavorick's crypt is warded, and has only one entrance. And here's how we'll do it…"

That was one of the craziest things we've ever done, really, comparable only to that crawl through the Bryce crypt protecting Lisbet. Except that in this case we had about a dozen or so civilians clutching at each other in our midst, with my companions and Ballard's soldiers surrounding them, the three paladins playing front- and rearguard. It wasn't without injuries, and we almost lost one of Tavorick's servants, but we made our way through, across and down. And I learned about erinyes, and the main thing I learned about them was that you didn't give them time to cast one of their Entangle spells… you either shot them full of arrows before that, or run up and hit them as hard as you could. They were nastier than succubi, and those I learned to hate back in the githyanki caves from where we rescued Shandra.

"I really wish we could catch this warlock." I panted as we finally were able to close and bolt the door behind us and in the gloom of a few torches two of the most sensible servants with us lit, we could finally sit down and take a breather. "I would have some words with him about his choice of companions…"

Shandra's shoulder and arm was in a makeshift sling; she insisted it was all right, there was no need wasting a healing spell on it. She found one of those licorice-flavored small vials in her weapon belt we all carried since Sand became part of our group, and she was adamant about that being sufficient for stopping bleeding.

"I am a good knotter, and there are people here who might need the healing better. I'll be fine; and thank Chauntea, I am a leftie, too. I can still swing my sword." She frowned. "It still seemed a bit too easy, the way we were able to get down here…"

"She calls that easy." Bishop pointed at the slightly bloodstained bandage on Shandra's shoulder. "Farm girl, you are almost as crazy as our leader here."

"No, she's right." Neeshka sank down on the ground next to me, eyes almost gleaming in the twilight of the crypt. "It was tough, but they could have caught us much easier…"

"Meh." Lord Tavorick sauntered over, still holding on to his cane mysteriously. I saw Ballard half-carrying him on his shoulder as we sped down the steps earlier; after his misstep, the captain took it upon himself to be the old man's bodyguard in the closest sense of the word. As a result, amazingly enough, the lord of the manor was still unharmed, with not even a speck of blood on his gala finery. "Predictable creatures, demons. Can't abide wards, not when they're done right." He sniffed disdainfully, and I frowned-- he dismissed our wards and efforts earlier too easily, and I didn't appreciate that. "Now they'll have to come at us through _that_…" His hand, holding his cane wavered; he leaned forward.

"Oghma's eyes! What is that _stench_?"

We all felt it at the same time; about two magnitudes stronger than before, the cloying and gagging odor swept over us in a noxious cloud of blue-green.

"So _that's_ why they let us through." Mother Hadewiga's lean face had lines of fatigue etched on it; I suspected the fact that we reached the crypt largely unharmed was due to the Inquisitor's protection spells cast around us, much stronger than either mine or Casavir's… but she was tired now, tired and worn, her halberd, its haft and her hands stained with demon and devil blood. "It was nothing but a trap to herd us exactly where they wanted us to, and we walked into the trap quite nicely." She let out the air forcefully as we heard loud, heavy footsteps of something approaching the door outside; the steps of _something _that clearly was nothing remotely humanoid. "And I am quite useless now… it's up to you two." She glanced around. "And whatever aid you can summon."

"I can smell you, little lordling. " The voice from the other side of the door almost knocked some of the civilians off their feet; it had such a vicious force and savage power behind it. Tavorick's eyes were sunken, empty pools; his breath came out in a wheezing hiss as he struggled to draw it. "I can scent your craven soul amidst the dust of your ancestors."

"Hezrou." The Inquisitor inhaled sharply, skin taut on her cheekbones from tension. "The stench is poisonous, even more so from close up, they grapple like monkeys, use some awful spells, and can summon aid from their home planes. In summation, a right nasty bastard; Tyr smite it back to whence it came from!"

Elanee's calm voice was like a soothing summer breeze.

"I still have some strength left; whatever it is, it's yours to use."

"Dear girl…" Sand drawled, stretching like a cat, "…I don't think I used up all my scrolls just yet. And I must say, this evening is _so _much more entertaining than the way it started."

"I wonder if this one is also immune to fire." Qara shrugged, arranging her robe around her and drawing up to her full height. "Most of my fire spells are still unused."

"Be still, my heart." Bishop muttered, examining the edge of his curved blade I only very rarely saw him using. Karnwyr, as far as I could tell, never stopped growling since we first felt the presence of demons. "As long as you know where to aim, sweetheart…"

"I knew I had this on me!" Grobnar exclaimed, pulling out something small and whistle-like from one of his hundred pockets. "Now I can play again…"

"I don't want to know what that is, really." Shandra whispered, biting her lip and glancing towards the crypt door. She was very white. "The instrument, I mean, obviously."

"Gods, I just wish Runty would be here." Neeshka sighed, examining her rapier. "I mean, we won't hear the end of it from him, you know? We left him out of such splendid brawling…"

"We are here, then." Casavir stepped up next to me; our shoulders touched, and I could feel the warmth of his aura; those two colors, rich rose-petal red and glowing gold blossoming at the center of it again, even stronger than before. "Let's do this, my lady."

"Very well." I took a deep breath, wishing I didn't almost immediately as the demon stench assaulted my senses. With sword drawn, the fire of the god kissing its edge as I uttered the right words, I stepped towards the source of the stench.

"And we can smell you too, demon. What do you want?"


	46. Surrender

-1**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections. It really helps me to get better, so please feel free to leave a review. Thanks for all of those who have already done so—you guys are great!**

**About that M rating: There is language occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things. In this chapter, yet again, there are descriptions of graphic violence. Just sayin'. The life of a paladin is not all balls and prayers, I'm afraid. There's also some fluff, perfectly justified.**

**For this chapter the following songs were playing, lending inspiration: _One Speed _from Graeme Revell's The Chronicles of Riddick soundtrack, _Calypso _from Hans Zimmer's _Pirates of the Carribbean: At Worlds's End _soundtrack, _River Understands Simon_, from the soundtrack of the movie _Serenity_, and _Sweet Surrender_ from Sarah McLachlan's _Surfacing._**

**I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… The Pendwyr girl is entirely my fault, though. J**

**Chapter Forty-Six: Surrender**

We ran. Across the dark courtyard of Lord Tavorick's mansion, to the stables, with all the strength we could muster, weapons still dripping with tainted ichor, battered and bruised, lungs heaving, we ran. Horses woke, snorting in fear, smelling the unholy liquid sputtered on our clothes, armor, hair, boots, everything, even our very soul, it seemed. Elanee cooed softly, trying to soothe them, and after a little while, while we all gathered our bearings, she succeeded. Saddle and tack was found, each of us making swift work of the buckles in the darkness; I was grateful for the darkvision my unknown father left me, but only vaguely, like through a curtain, detached and from high above. I was wondering if this was aftershock of what just transpired inside the mansion, what Tavorick revealed, the secret that made me turn around and start running, or it was finally my celestial side asserting itself, and if so, whether it was final or temporary. Or was it all of the above.

That thought brought back that conversation about celestials and pins and dancing; I faintly heard myself giggle as I got to the saddle and pulled the reins tight. I didn't have to look around to know that everyone was looking at me funny; I was reasonably sure it wasn't normal behavior, but just then I didn't care.

And still no one spoke; ever Grobnar was silent, that little gnome of almost constant, often incoherent mumblings. I could barely see his eyes glinting in the moonlight as we exploded from the open stable gates through the courtyard in a steady canter, through the poplar-lined alley and then to the road leading to the City.

I didn't ask any of them to come; just turned and ran out of the crypt, the demon Quaggoth-yeg's blood still steaming on my armor. I secretly was afraid (yes, me, afraid) it might be acidic enough to eat through the steel, but it just clung, stinking and thick and dark, like the corpse of the demon itself in the hallway, surrounded by bodies of erinyes and succubi and mephits. Yes, I turned and ran; the threat to this house was over, and what Tavorick revealed shook me to my very core and made this entire night seem even more cold, black and frightening.

"_That thing... it has a Master." _As I leaned on my horse's neck, urging it forward towards the gates of Neverwinter hiding in the inky darkness of the night, I remembered the old lord's parchment-white face, his feverish whisper as he clutched his side where a claw from one monster or another got him at last, despite our efforts. Ballard was busy trying to press some gauze bandage over it, but Tavorick kept shooing him away impatiently, as if the wound was of no consequence compared to what he wanted to tell me. _"You heard it, didn't you? I told Nasher this hoodwinking business wouldn't work, but does he listen to the eighty-four-year-old?"_

"_Hoodwinking business…" I tried to control my breathing; I heard plate-clad footsteps behind me and I felt Casavir's hand on my shoulder._

"_We've been out-maneuvered." Tavorick said with a small cough racking his scrawny body. I saw the gauze in Ballard's hand turning red with blood. "Whole business was a diversion, to get whoever's seeking the shard to reveal himself. Instead he sent that brute with the tongue-twisting name…"_

_Images in my mind, little snippets of conversations; the way Tavorick kept his hand on his chest pocket; the way he insisted he had the silver shard right there all the time; the petulant whining about Ballard sending the harpist girl away…_

"_You… you don't really **have** the shard, do you?"_

"_Of course not. " Tavorick shrugged, swatting at Ballard irritably again. "Watch where your hands go, young man. If I want to have someone do Lay on Hands on me, I ask the pretty lady here." He ignored the grunt from the captain, ignored the squeak from Neeshka and the incredulous 'WHAT?' from Shandra, looked up at me calmly and continued. "Haven't had it since the Ball started. Passed it to Melia, in fact, just before you got downstairs. I do still have a few wits left, you know..."_

"_Really?" That's all I could say, and even that came out feebly. The stink of the demon dissipated only slowly, despite the last of Elanee's wind spells, and the fact that gallons of its blood, probably, were splashed on and around me was no help either. I slowly sank down on one knee next to the old man._

"_The broad from Ophala's?" Bishop stepped closer, yanking an arrow out of a fallen erinyes and staring at the half-molten iron top in disbelief. "You gave that thing to a… **festhall** **girl**? Are you completely daft, old man?"_

"_Melia's one of the Nine." Tavorick said, grasping my hand and holding it surprisingly strongly. "Listen to me, little squire: She's holed up at the Moonstone Mask with a half-dozen guards, posing as patrons." He shook his head. "Only the demon's Master has seen through our ruse. He sent the demons here to occupy you, and to kill me in the bargain." _

_I started to hear him more and more distantly, as if a curtain was pulled up between us; I started at his face, his moving lips, and all I could think about was how bloodless those lips seemed, how deep the lines of fatigue and pain were etching into the two sides of his long nose. _

"_The man himself's on his way to the Mask to claim the shard - I'd bet my heirs on it, if I had any." He definitely was talking slower and almost in a whisper now; Ballard was kneeling, pulling another bandage out of a pouch on his belt, swearing loudly…_

"_You've got to get to the Mask." The old man's grip on mine was almost painfully hard. "Warn Melia, and protect that shard."_

…_I felt the blood in my ears pounding almost in the same rhythm as those great silver-white wings whose beating was back again, distantly first, like the sound of waves on a seashore…_

_And that's how I started to walk first, slowly then faster, towards the shattered door, around the pools of ichor and bodies of monsters, broken sarcophagi and statues, walking, yes, but switching to running as soon as I cleared the stairs, not even paying attention if anyone followed me, running faster and faster, to the rhythm of those beating wings…_

…We were on the road now, and I still felt like running. I leaned on Lorra's neck, almost lifting myself out of the saddle, urging her faster and faster, knowing that even at this speed, even with all that we have, we might be late; we almost certainly will be late…

I heard some loud voices behind me as my companions attempted to talk, but paid no attention. They might even have tried to talk to _me _at first. I realized that they stopped any conversation after a while, and it was just the sound of horses' hooves, the noise tack and rains make, loud breathing, wind, and some slow, steady rain that started to fall halfway through and got stronger and stronger as we neared the gates.

I don't think the guards had a good night that day, especially when they saw us approaching. The great gate-wings were locked and barred, normally open and inviting to everyone: usual precaution in most Sword Coast cities. Tymora smiled at us though, that evening: the sergeant on duty recognized me even in the darkness.

"Lieutenant Pendwyr?" he shouted incredulously down from the crenellated battlement as we drew up and I clanged the gate with all my might.

"Sergeant Rowley." I tried to get some hair out of my face, plastered over my head by the rain. "Open the gate; we're on the Lord Nasher's business."

"Sergeant…"I heard a hesitating voice piping up. "We're not supposed to…"

"Shut up, Corporal." Clanging noises indicated that the sergeant was descending the stairs to the gate. "'Tis the Squire who cleaned up the Docks and got them Luskan gods expelled from the City, so even is she looks like half of the armies of Hell are behind her, best to do what she says."

If only you knew, I thought vaguely, as the smaller sally gate opened with more clanging and banging noises, and Rowley emerged, his armor covered in a thick hooded oilskin cape.

"You'll need to get off the horses, I am afraid, to get through." he said apologetically and saluted. "Quickly, now; if it's the Lord's business, it must be urgent."

"You really should ask at least for a letter, Sergeant." the corporal called down from the battlement. "Who knows what might…"

"From two paladins of Tyr, Mercier? Are ye daft?" Rowley snapped, studiously ignoring our appearance as we filed in. Even the rain, getting heavier by the minute, wasn't enough to entirely wash us clean from the demon ichor. "You jus'go , Lieutenant… don't mind the Corporal, he's new." He touched his fingers to the brim of his hood and nodded towards Casavir.. "M'lord…"

"Blessings of the Even-Handed on you, Sergeant. " He made the sign of the sword over the Watchman's head and I saw a brief flicker of divine sparks. "This will not be forgotten."

"'M just servin' the City, m'lord." Rowley muttered. "On you go, now."

That entire scene played out in my mind as some kind of interlude in a macabre play, the likes of which they occasionally showed at the Docks. Lots of made-up blood, screaming and some cheap magical effects, interspersed with bumbling Watchmen ineptly stumbling through the stage eliciting laugh from the audience, just enough so they were ready for the next act's heap of gore, drama and copious amount of dead bodies.

And we were nearing the next act, indeed. Back on our horses, the route between the gate and the _Mask_ was short, but navigating the streets seemed like a never-ending series of short, sharp turns, straight canter through wider avenues and smaller alleys and ducking signs and low-hanging balconies… Neeshka took the lead here, as she knew the shortest ways through the city better than any of us. Her nightvision and mine both served us well, along with the fact that in the merchant's Quarter they had some streetlamps of the slightly magicked kind burning, at least one on each street.

The _Mask _loomed ahead of us, not like its usual cheerful self. There was not a soul in sight, which in itself was unusual, even though this was the part of the night Daeghun called 'hours of the wolf'. There were always people around here, walking, staggering, chatting, waiting, doing business, even in the late hours… Ophala made sure this part of the City never slept; and now, after learning about who she really was, I knew this was so that she, like a spider queen sitting in her nest, can find any and all information that can be useful for Nasher.

But now… that cloying smell was there again, the mixture of sickly sweet perfume and rotting flesh, the unmistakeable scent of beings of the Lower Planes. That alone, even if not recognized as such, should have sent everyone scurrying. The almost palpable sense of dread and fear that hung around on the square just added to that, and not in a good way.

"Some rather strong fear spells, and worse." murmured Sand thoughtfully as he got off his horse, grabbing for the scroll belt hanging from the saddle and slinging it over his shoulder. He used up all of his own memorized spells in Tavorick's mansion. "I am sure you can feel the Lower Planes stink stronger than I can, dear girl, but believe me, the arcane smell is almost as bad here. I wonder where Ophala might be…" His face was gaunt and almost deadly pale; I've not seen him this exhausted, not even right before my trial when he pushed himself relentlessly, studying legal texts and precedents in the great library of the Temple of Tyr. "The magic here doesn't feel anything like she might evoke…"

He pressed his lips together grimly and I knew what he meant. If whoever the demons' master was managed to subdue one of the Many-Starred Cloaks, that might mean we had a real problem on our hands, and right in the middle of the City, too. With most of our magic depleted from the fight at Tavorick's…

"Should we dispatch someone to the Watch or the Castle, even?" Neeshka tapped my shoulder gently, as if reading my thoughts. "Might need reinforcements…it's way too quiet in there."

"We ought to go in, anyway." I said thoughtfully, then looked at her and saw the real concern in her red eyes. "But you're right… backup never hurts." I was moved by the fact that she suggested to call in the authorities herself; that was a big change from when we first met. "If you don't mind taking up the task, getting to the Watchhouse and perhaps having someone there notify someone at the Castle…"

"Here." Casavir stepped closer and pulled off his gauntlet. "Take this with you… might help to get access to Castle Never." He smiled briefly, almost apologetically as he slid a heavy signet ring off his finger and pressed it into Neeshka's black-gloved palm. "I know you, Neeshka, but some might have… prejudices?"

The tiefling wrinkled her nose.

"Yeah, I know exactly what you mean." I saw her almost mechanically check the ring with a thief's practiced ease, weighing it in her palm, lifting it briefly to her eye, running a fingertip through the grooves of an engraved coat-of-arms. "Nice piece, Cas… all right, all right, I know." She made a face and turned, giving my shoulder a careful pat. "You just be good paladins and… fix whatever is wrong in there, and I'll be back in two shakes and with a lot of help." She shook her head. "Damn, I can't believe I'm doing this…" I heard her muttering as she took flight, suddenly disappearing between the shadows.

"That was your family signet ring, wasn't it?" I asked Casavir quietly, watching him pulling his gauntlet back.

He nodded.

"Nasher gave it to me when we first met…" He took a deep breath. "It was taken from my father's body after his trial…I… didn't want to wear it for quite awhile, but…"

The way he said that made me want to just throw all caution to the air and wrap my arms around him, plate armor and all, but resisted. There was a slightly more important matter to take care of first.

"I understand." I settled for a quick smile and turned to the rest of my companions, in various stages of readiness. "Let's get this over with. Melia is probably on the first floor in one of the private rooms." I looked around. "Bishop, Qara, Elanee and Shandra will secure the ground floor first, then follow Casavir, Sand, Grobnar and myself upstairs. The stairs are in the back and to the right. Any survivors, let me know." They nodded; I tried to allocate our forces so there are healers and casters with the fighters in both group--inasmuch as we still had any magic left.

Then there was no more time; if we wanted to do this quick, we had to move. There was, yet again, no time.

I found that it was increasingly easy to achieve the detached, calm state I always thought of as belonging to my full celestial side. Under any other circumstances it would have worried me just how easy it was all night today… but these were definitely not normal circumstances, even by our standards. A mage who uses unconventional magic, has demonic allies or minions, who is ruthless and determined, and smart enough to see through the elaborate ruse that Nasher and his advisors set for him, and whom no one couldn't even glimpse and stay alive to tell the tale. I didn't really want to think about the possible ramifications of this, not right in the middle of a mission, so I pressed my lips together and signaled for 'go', using the thieves' signs Neeshka has taught all of us.

I used to have nightmares very much like that scene inside the Moonstone Mask, after my departure from West Harbor, for quite a while. The scenes after the githyanki attack on my village and then on the Weeping Willow Inn, those made me wake up panting and screaming in the night often enough during the first few weeks of my voyage to Neverwinter--Khelgar had to bear most of it, and Neeshka for a while, too. Almost all of them featured a view that was very much like the _Mask's _great room we surveyed now: smashed and overturned furniture, darkness punctuated by the flickering of dripping candles from broken chandeliers and the almost dead fire in the great fireplace in the middle…Dark and still fluid blood pooled on the carefully laid wood floor seeping through the planks, permeating the air with its sharp, coppery smell. There was, also, stench of charred flesh and something that reminded me too much of winter pig-killings, when last year's favorite prizewinner is opened up and its intestines are scooped out into a wooden pail. Nausea assaulted me, despite the aloofness of my celestial side as I realized that I could, even in the gloom, see at last three half ripped-apart bodies strewn carelessly on top of broken furniture.

And it was quiet, too quiet, so much so that I could hear the slow drops of blood hitting the floor, and the creak of the boards at every step.

"I don't think anyone's alive here." Bishop reported curtly, tapping my shoulder. I was almost at the staircase already, moving like everyone around me was trapped in a sticky honey-like substance. Maybe I wanted to get away from the smell and sights of an abattoir here, I don't know.

"Just do a sweep, anyway." I said curtly, making a chopping motion around.

"Demonwork, probably." he barked; I could make out Shandra's pale face behind him. She gulped the air in with mouth half-open, swallowing bile furiously—I could understand, but couldn't allow contemplating it, less being trapped by all outside circumstances when I had to concentrate on what was ahead of me. "Best be careful up there, holy girl."

"Less fuss, more action, Bishop." I growled; the smell of the Lower Planes got stronger here, by the staircase in the corner; whatever wrought the carnage in this room, must have moved upstairs.

"Just tell that to me again once you're out of that plate armor." He grinned at me, but the without the usual leer that accompanied that sentence --his voice was just as cold as his eyes.

"Gods, Bishop, at least now you shouldn't be getting it on with your disgusting jokes again…" Shandra said exasperatedly; her arm was still not perfect, but, like she said earlier, it wasn't her sword-arm, and I knew better than argue with her. Stubborn, my farm-girl was, and since we managed to heal her up as well as we could, she insisted on not being left behind. In fact, none of my companions had.

"We need to go." I shook my head and started up the stairs, sword drawn. "You four follow us when you're done here."

There wasn't much talk after that. I didn't need to look to know that Casavir was right there by my side--the brush of his aura was enough at the edge of my consciousness… and, at that moment, my celestial self reasserted itself with such a force I could almost feel the sparks of silver starting to build. I heard him grunt, surprised, as if he didn't expect such a flare of my powers, exhausted as we all were. I wasn't sure what it was, either, but again, there was no time, no time for such thoughts; not even for the nagging doubt to surface that I was a complete and utter fool rushing in like that, especially halving what forces we had and dead tired besides…

It is an odd thing, memory. I often find that in the god's battle time, as everything seems to slow down and stretch, memories flow easily, and sometimes the mind throws up the oddest shards of the past. I already had to fight the flashbacks of my home village and the inn I first met Khelgar… now, on the first floor of the _Mask_, as yet again we were assaulted by mephits and erinyes, although I desperately wanted to not remember the battle we just left behind at the Tavorick estate, I kept hearing that mind-grating voice of the hezrou demon, Quaggoth-yeg.

"_And who are you, my mortal friend? You have a wonderful scent about you." A long, sniffing sound from the other side of the thick, oaken door of the crypt, then laughter that felt like iron slowly crumbling to dust. "Beneath your weariness and your sweat, you smell of lives shattered, and hopes trod underfoot." Another snort, the voice is slightly more amused now, the stench getting almost unbearable. "Perhaps I could smell you better... if only I could come... a bit closer..."_

Understanding came to me: whatever was driving me right now probably brought that memory back to raise my wrath against the creatures who butchered what looked like almost the entire staff of the Moonstone Mask—_and where was Ophala, I wondered in a corner of my mind as yet another half-shredded corpse of a young girl came into view from an open door_--but we pressed on, almost running, dispatching creatures of the Abyss with such force they ended up almost as mangled as their earlier victims. I vaguely remember that at some point the four we left downstairs caught up with us. I can still recall how Bishop swore practically in one continuous streak probably all the way from the stairs...

And, at last, behind the last closed door of the floor--the room seemed oddly familiar, but at that moment I simply couldn't understand why-- we came face to face with the Master of Quaggoth-Yeg, the man who could pluck demons from the depths of the Abyss and summon devils from the Nine Hells to do his bidding. We came upon him as he straightened from the scorched and almost unrecognizable body of a woman. If it were not for the dress I saw her wearing at Tavorick's ball, I wouldn't have recognized her at all.

Melia still clutched a sword in her right hand, but that richly embroidered dress was in tatters from deep, raking wounds and scorch marks covering her body. I smelled burnt hair again, and my eyes watered.

"You..." I croaked, wishing for a second that my voice sounded less exhausted than it did.

"Ah. Reinforcements." He sounded so cold, so emotionless. Intricate woad tattoos, like spiderweb, crawled on his shaved head and narrow face, framed by a beard. His speech was clipped and precise, strangely reminding me of the upper-class accent Sir Nevalle had. "I am afraid you are too late to save this one." He shrugged; his hands, with their long and thin fingers started to draw complicated patterns in the air. "And if it is the shard you're after, I am afraid I have that as well." A brief and extremely unpleasant smile flickered across his face. "It seems to me all you have left is your life... but _that _is easily corrected."

I heard, almost at the same time, a warning hiss from Casavir, a gasp from Shandra, and a strange 'pop' sound, rapidly followed by another… then, literally before I could draw another breath, the tattooed mage was gone, and in his place, in a slowly fading summoning circle I could barely register, stood two monstrosities, black-haired dogs the size of a buffalo, with eyes glowing with the red of the Nine Hells. Their growl shook the floorboards underneath our feet, and the fetid breath from their slowly opening maws hit us like the stench of open graves. I don't know if we could have stopped him from completing that invocation, I honestly don't think we had time—looking back it was obvious that he set up his summoning circles and completed half of the necessary rituals as soon as he got the shard from Melia, waiting for possible reinforcements to arrive. He was thorough, way too much so…

"I hate warlocks." Sand measured between his teeth, keeping an eye on one of the monsters while grabbing one of the last scrolls from his belt. "I hate their pacts, and their pets, and…"

That's how far he got before the creatures charged, and he barely had time to fling that spell over and above my head. I somehow managed to dodge both that and the huge paw sweeping across the air threatening to take my head off, ducked under a jaw full of yellow teeth and acid saliva--everything slowed down mercifully again as my celestial side took over, forcing me to battle time—and I felt my sword, raised up and at an aggressive angle, slicing into something. As I let my inertia take me to the floor, I was grateful for the work of Brother Colm on my armor: I had no trouble keeping my lunge fluid and moving so the creature literally eviscerated itself.

Naturally, this was not something that could have been accomplished without getting _really _messy. I felt the monster's blood and other fluids rain on me from the wound. I resisted the urge to scrub at the visor of my helmet, shook my head instead and spun around, still fully in the god's time...

No, this definitely _wasn't _a good idea. The monster crashed over me, howling and trashing around in pain, its weight pressing me down. Belatedly I remembered that lesson in the _Flagon's _courtyard Casavir gave me about suboptimal moves with a heavier opponent.

_Yep, this definitely qualifies..._

There was a sharp pain in my sword-arm first as I still held it up, then a fraction of second later, as I got yanked out of battle-time, I felt an even worse explosion of agony in my ribcage as the full weight of the creature –_hellhounds, they are called hellhounds, _someone in my head helpfully supplied-- rolled over me in its final twitch of death. The stench became suffocating, it was impossible to breathe… and, as I lost consciousness, my last thought, entirely justified in hindsight, was: _If I survive this, Casavir will sure strangle me…_

I really, truly hated to come around to the feeling that my every single muscle hurt, but there was nothing to it-- that's exactly what happened when I was finally able to open my eyes.

I probably wasn't out for long, because the first thing assaulting my senses, besides the pain, was the incredible smell that, apparently came straight from me. I coughed. It hurt even worse.

"She's back..." I recognized Elanee's voice, tenseness slowly leaking out of it. "She's going to be fine."

"I... wouldn't say that, El." I croaked out. Every breath hurt, but my eyes were open, and I could see her squatting in front of me. "Bunch of... broken ribs, 'm afraid."

"Not any more." she said, still curtly. "At least they are stabilized." she added, as another face swam into my view.

"Can you get up?" Ophala Cheldarstorm's voice was cold and almost completely emotionless, and all the more frightening for it, especially as her pale, heart-shaped face had absolutely no expression whatsoever either. "We really ought to get moving from here; this is no longer a place for the living."

"I'm sorry." I managed to whisper; another wave of weakness assaulted me but I started to pull myself upright. "We arrived too late."

"You are _apologizing_?" Ophala shook her head and put a hand underneath my elbow, steadying me as I stood up; she was unexpectedly strong. "I should have been here..." That curt, angry shake of head gave me an indication of just how much emotion she kept back. "Paladins..." she muttered, and raised her voice. "Darmon, if you don't mind, I'll let the Squire and her companions return to their lodgings. I think their questioning can wait."

I looked around; the dark-haired member of the Nine just straightened up with grim face from covering Melia's body with a sheet. Greycloaks were all around in the room, that was rather crowded as it was, what with my companions and the carcasses of the two hellhounds.

"I think so, too." Darmon nodded; his gray eyes looked troubled. "Especially with the Lord Korranos already gone to the Castle with Sir Devon to debrief Lord Nasher..."

My head swam: wasn't sure it was the half-healed injuries I nursed still (_who knew Ophala had healing spells?)_ or what Darmon just said.

"Come, Rig." Neeshka slid an arm around my shoulder, her always smiling face now unusually serious. "I'm sorry we couldn't get here sooner with the reinforcements; it took a while to find Ophala in the palace." She leaned closer. "That ring worked like a charm, by the way... you really owe to Casavir."

"I know." I tried to piece the events together in my head as we slowly left the room and I hobbled down the stairs, passing more Greycloaks. So Ophala apparently was at the Castle when the _Mask _got attacked, and close enough to at least two others of the Nine so she could gather them when Neeshka somehow reached her with the news. However, they arrived too late...

"He wouldn't have left if he'd thought you'd be in danger, you know?" Neeshka whispered in my ear unexpectedly as well were ushered out the back door by a 'Cloak sergeant. Outside there were quite a number of Watchmen at the entrances; it was almost daybreak and the Merchant Quarter woke up early.

I just nodded; that was, obviously, the case, but still, hearing Neeshka stating it like that was reassuring.

"I am supposed to keep an eye on you, he told me, so..." She shook her head defiantly as she watched me slowly pulling myself up into Lorra's saddle, "...you'd better do what you're told... According to Ophala. you had a hairline fracture in your sword arm and several ribs cracked." I winced as I finally sat upright on my horse's back and took the reins, watching Neeshka gracefully vault herself into position on her mount as well and continue. "You'll need some rest, but El said she'd had some more healing potions squirreled away at the Flagon, so we should be fine." She reached over and patted my arm. "And I'm sure he'll be back soon." she added with a wink.

"Anyone told you you're insufferable?" I said with clenched teeth. She laughed, and the horrible tension of the evening and the night eased up somewhat.

Still, I couldn't shake the feeling of numbness that has started after I heard Tavorick's explanation just hours ago. It stayed with me as we made our way back to Duncan's inn through the slowly wakening city, not paying attention to the many curious glances thrown in our direction, covered in various colors of grime and blood as we were. It kept me company as I was helped up to the women's bathroom by Elanee and Neeshka, quickly divested of my much-suffered and rather sorry-looking armor and clothes, Elanee making me drink one of her more potent healing potions while Neeshka let almost-scalding hot water lash over me from the gurgling pipes of the unknown Gnome inventor Duncan somehow managed to coax into outfitting his inn with one of his better contraptions. I often wondered if it was one of his former companions on his adventures, but somehow never got around asking him. I stood there almost unmoving, feeling the healing potion's warmth and the heat of the water seep into my bones--but knowing that somehow the core of my being remained cold and stiff and unyielding, still too focused on all that happened in one single night.

Bloodshed I was used to, fight I've seen enough... This wasn't even the first time I had to match my blade against creatures of the Lower Planes--I've done that in those githyanki caves beneath the ancient ruins over Ember from where we rescued Shandra... but this night's events somehow seemed to break something in me. I had no better words for it... It was like somehow the amount of infernal minions and their unceasing violence caused my human and celestial sides break even further apart, leaving my body almost paralyzed when the threat was over and I could have been whole again... but I couldn't. I missed something. I felt alone and unanchored, like a ship on a voyage through deep fog-covered seas; alone despite two of my oldest companions around me. Alone and cold, like the stars on the sky above slowly dissolving into the morning light creeping in from outside.

They left me alone at last, in my room, with a large bowl of chicken soup that Duncan swore would revive anyone (given that it was fortified with copious amount of brandy my uncle insisted was part of the recipe, Neeshka wasn't arguing much), some of Elanee's herbal concoction, and promises that everyone else will be just fine, thank you and I was just supposed to rest. It was just as well--I already felt alone enough. I just nodded, clutched my towel to me like a good little girl, and as soon as they closed the door behind them, started shivering like I was standing in that icy rain and wind outside again. I pulled out my oldest pair of trews from the bottom of my trunk, the one I normally only wore when I had to do something really menial, like cleaning Lora's stalls or Duncan's floor, plus the only shirt I could find, which was so frayed that I cut the sleeves and the bottom part off weeks ago. Almost all of my other clothes were at Tavorick's estate, and I had no idea when I would get them back. I pulled my quilt over my shoulder, curled up on my bed, sipped on the hot soup and felt nothing, nothing at all but the star-cold creeping into my bones. I didn't want to think about anything--and, for once, I really succeeded. All I had was the little noises from downstairs, the smell of the brandied broth in my bowl, and the colorful tiles of the quilt pooling around me like a touch of summer that seemed would never come again.

I was on this road for too long, saw too much, hells, felt too much. I was just... spent. Inhaling, exhaling, lifting the spoon-- all of that was purely habits and reflexes. And while the back of my brain definitely registered this as after-battle shock, the larger part of me didn't care.

So when the knock came at my door, I didn't even find the strength to answer it. I was done with my soup and El's herbal tea as well (I was taught early by Daeghun that you always finished your meal), and just sat there with chin on my pulled-up knees, vaguely aware that I was slightly rocking back and forth, distantly registering the opening of my door, someone coming in...

And the world _shifted_. It was as if some sort of wrapping or cocoon I was in, a mud-brown ugliness of apathy, sorrow and coldness dissolved and I was standing in the sunlight again, silver and blue, with that beautiful center of deep red and pure gold...

"I'm sorry, my lady." Casavir said softly as he stepped closer, concern in his eyes. "I was kept longer by Nasher than I'd have liked to, but I trusted Elanee and the others took good care of you?"

I stared. Nasher obviously insisted on getting him out of the gore-covered armor and clothes the way I got cleaned up by Neeshka and Elanee. They lent him clothes at the Castle, too: the soft doeskin breeches, dyed dark blue, matching boots and breeze-fine linen shirt did nothing to hide his wide shoulders, impossibly narrow waist...

Sweet breath of Sune, but he looked wonderful. I could no longer in good conscience say that I didn't feel anything... I felt more alive than I did since that first migraine attack heralded the start of the nightmare that was the end of Tavorick's Ball. I felt that unintended spell if mine to stir, slowly rising from underneath the remains of that horrible star-distant cold, awaken by the rays of silver and blue entering my world again. It woke, and brought something fierce and terrible, something I never thought I would feel, something that made my throat go dry and my breath shallow and fast, my lower body tighten and my breasts ache...

Deep inside of me _something _knew it was the spell, and _it_ also knew this was part of the revelation that I was alive after all those battles, an almost universal human response, but it didn't help _me_. I shook the quilt off and was across the room's width in two long strides, grabbed the sides of his face and kissed him long and so hard I felt my lips bruised. He made a surprised little grunting sound first, trying to resist, but it only lasted for a brief second. Then his hands flew to my hips, crushing me against him and he returned my kiss like someone who wandered in the deserts of Kara-Tur too long before he finally found the oasis full of cool sweet water.

"Gods..." he gasped as we both came up for air, "...oh, gods, Arrighan, we cannot..." But he was kissing me again, grazing teeth against teeth, one hand still gripping me against him hard, the other sliding up on the bare skin between my trews and shirt... I felt like I was on fire, and I knew I was alive, and I wanted him, sweet Tyr, I did, so much that it almost hurt. His kisses were burning a line on my throat, and I arched my neck, my hands sliding down his back, stealing under his shirt, aching to feel the smoothness of his skin...

And I scrambled away, eyes wide open, blood cooling, a sinking feeling in my stomach, that coldness returning again...

"Arrighan...I...I can explain..." He stumbled over the words, face red with shame and the ashes of what burned between us just a second ago. "Please...I..."

"Get. It. Off." I measured between my teeth, looking at him now somehow regained my composure. The rage that welled up in me got cooled to ice almost as fast as the thoughtless feeling of _want _departed. "Now."

"What?" He looked at me, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe what I just said.

And that really topped it all.

"I said, get that fucking _cilicium _off, Korranos, before I hit you." I said, feeling like I just had a bucket of cold water poured all over me. I shook with the anger of one betrayed. "And don't you dare to say a word about me swearing. How long since you're wearing that piece of shit?" I was glad my voice wasn't trembling.

Aevan gave me a rather good education about Tyr's faith, oh, he did; it included a lecture on various forms of self-disciplining, even though he didn't advocate any other than the occasional fasting and vigil. I thought self-flagellation was bad, but when he described this particular form of self-mortification, I first thought he was jesting.

_"A... shirt made out of unsoftened goat hair?" I could still feel the disbelief coursing through my fifteen-year-old self. "But that…that would be…"I grew silent, contemplating the effect it would have against bare skin. I grew up in a village full of animals, after all, and for a while Daeghun did have a nanny goat for milk._

_"On occasion woven through with small, spiked metal rings." Aevan's scarred face didn't lend itself well to sarcastic grins. He tapped the well-worn book in front of him he was reading from. "Even though the Rules clearly state that a brother or a sister should not wear it for more than a couple of hours a day even if the sin they felt committing in thoughts or deeds was severe, lest it interfere with the duties of a warrior, I remember instances when our House prior had to discipline someone for being too... overzealous in its use."_

I fought back rising nausea, as I also recalled Prior Hlam's words: "_Self-mortification in moderation can be desirable in Our Lord's eyes as it purifies the mind, but that boy, I have the feeling, can carry it to the extremes. He Who Loses Himself In Battle, that was the name those orc tribes called him at Old Owl Well..."_

"On second thought, don't say anything." I lifted a hand, forestalling his explanation. I realized, almost as blindingly fast as desire welled up in me when I heard his voice as he entered my room, that the mind-numbing cold wrath I felt when my fingers realized what that thing under his shirt was dissipated already. I let out the air forcefully from my lungs in a long sigh and looked at him. "I am extremely angry still, you know." I said, and sat back on my bed. "You do realize that this is not simply a 'you- not-trusting-me-or- yourself' issue, right?" I lifted a hand again. "Rhetorical question… please allow me the luxury of getting this off my chest. It will be better for the both of us." I shook my head, still disbelieving. "I thank the gods that it didn't interfere with your daily duties until now… I can't believe _I am_ lecturing you on this, but I have to say it: have you read the Rules recently? Those things are for major transgressions in moderation as prescribed by your house prior, and for even shorter times if worn voluntarily…" I raised an eyebrow. "And I still don't see you taking it off." I almost unselfconsciously slipped into the cadences of command Aevan used when I was his disciple and in my worst of rebellious-teenager phases. "It wasn't a request either."

He went on one knee, like he did before when asking or my forgiveness for that moment of weakness when he wanted to flee my service.

"_Sistinae-va rammonac'h reba Tiw." _he cited the full title he named me with that same day. "I hear and obey." His hands were fumbling with the shirt and the _cilicium_ underneath awkwardly.

"Oh, for Tyr's sake, Casavir, get up." I said, exasperated. Whatever anger still was in me, evaporated seeing him like that. "I am not punishing you, what do you think I am, a petulant child or a closet Loviatarite?" I watched him getting rid of the hair shirt, and I swallowed. "There, see? Had that on all the while even under the armor and earlier during the ball, didn't you?" He nodded; his exposed upper body was full of angry red welts and some half-healed scarring. Just as I suspected, the _cilicium_ he chose, indeed, had some metal rings sewn into it, similar to a hauberk, except for the small metal spikes. It made little clinking sounds as he lowered it to the ground behind him. "Speaking about Loviatarites…" I mumbled under my nose as I cast about to find the little box of salve Elanee left for me to treat the bruising over my healing ribs with, "…I really need to know if you have issues in that regard, you know." I made a face. "That was a feeble attempt at a joke, before you start protesting, by the way."

I found the box; yes, it was rather pungent, a strong camphorous smell mixed with something that reminded me of swamp gases and crushed, slightly rotting leaves. I patted the bed.

"Come here so I can make you smell awful, too. Elanee thinks if her stuff smells good, it doesn't work, and this time she cooperated with Sand on some of the ingredients—they cooked this up weeks ago." I was aware that I talked too much, but I had to. Otherwise I would have probably dissolved into a mixture of helpless laughter and crying. I was not the one who should have been dealing with this, really—and especially not right now.

He sat down heavily next to me, eyes still downcast.

"So are you going to actually talk to me, or are we stuck at me babbling and dabbing at these bruises and you sulking?" I had to ask; he hasn't uttered a word except the ritual words of obedience since I discovered his secret.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"My lady, I..." He stopped, swallowed and looked at me almost helplessly.

"Well, we do need to talk about it, right?" I thought I was reasonably calm and collected pointing that out, but in hindsight I must have sounded just a little bit patronizing, even maternal, which was the last thing he needed right now.

Heck, it was the last thing either of us needed in a similar situation.

The flash of his aura was almost blinding, blue and violet blending into silver around the edges; his eyes reflected the flames and his nostrils flamed as he turned towards me, his hand coming down with a sharp slap next to his thigh on the bed.

"By Tyr, my lady, will you hear me out at last?" I shrank back involuntarily from that much emotion directed at me all at once. He noticed it too; the rest was said in a considerably lower tone. "I am sorry. I..." He raked his hair with one hand and gave a little laugh in frustration. "Well, since you deserve frankness and honesty so obviously denied ..."

"There is no need beating yourself up over this, Casavir." I said, a bit more emotion in my voice now. "I did that for you already and rather eloquently, so..." I shrugged. "We are both on the edge and a bit irrational after what we went through today, I think." I couldn't deny who I was: I felt compelled to succinctly summarize my feelings, and I thought I did a rather good job about it. "I don't understand why, after all we talked about, you still felt the need to punish yourself for your feelings."

"Feelings." There was that bitter little laugh again. "I guess you can call it like that."

I narrowed my eyes.

"I thought we'd been through this before." I said cautiously; I hated the fact that I had to draw him out like that, but I knew if I just dropped it now, that would be a disservice for the both of us.

_Especially now_... my human side unexpectedly snickered. _Be honest with yourself, Rig, especially after you jumped him like that..._

"Gods, Arrighan, will you just _listen_?" Casavir lifted his voice again. "You think you know all about this, right? You really, honestly think you understand just how much I want to _have _you right now, how much I wanted you for weeks, for that matter? How I lie awake in the middle of the night almost every day, dreaming about every curve of your body? Do we really need to get into technicalities about cold showers in the middle of the night? And just how unclean and awful that makes me feel while at the same time it feels _good _and I know it is natural, to feel like that, but by Tyr, it's you...Chosen of the god and Heavens-touched? This is not something you just get over!"

"Well, and why do you think I don't have the same problem?" There was no way I would have just said that even a week ago; which just went to show how much I'd changed lately. I don't think I really blushed much hearing that admission from him, even. I saw his eyes widen in shock, so I continued in the same calm tones. " I also have dreams, you know. Some of them might shock even Neeshka, probably. And given that I almost jumped your bones about ten minutes ago realizing that we're both alive and it's a wonderful thing, I don't think I have any basis for complaining about _that_. However, you were being absolutely an ass about it and decided that I wouldn't understand, especially after we already went through this at the _Mask _that night and I told you it was all right to have feelings, however carnal they might be, really..." I stopped. "I can't believe it's me lecturing you again. Yep, us, Tyrrans." I said, somehow exasperated. "Trust us to turn something like this to a lecture-debate and overanalyze."

_Dear gods and all my celestial ancestors, but he looks even better without his shirt on._

An idea struck me entirely unexpected, and I fought hard to hide my grin. Instead, I settled on a suitably grim expression pointing at the _cingulum _on the floor, feeling oddly relieved and very, very definitely alive.

"That thing as a disciplinary measure was entirely unnecessary, overly excessive, and, like I said, potentially damaging not just to your own self, but for the entire group. Would you consent to my judgment as the leader of our company over this matter?"

If he was a bit taken aback by my sudden change of tone yet again, he showed no sign of it.

_Yes, us Tyrrans all right._

"I shall abide by whatever you decide, my lady." He bowed his head and would have gone on his knee again, but I stopped him with a hand on his arm.

_Oh no, this will not be that easy, milord_.

"Splendid, then." Before he could do anything, I slid over his lap, straddling him. "Do you trust me?"

He swallowed, and nodded, wordlessly: I was unable to hide my wide grin any more.

"Good. Because I trust you too." I held out the salve box and carefully peeled the lid off: that strong smell that emanated from it even while closed now filled my room and almost made my eyes water. "So I am going to treat your stupid wounds with this, and you will not make any sounds however much it stings. Or however much you like it." I added with a wink.

"I'll endure." he said through clenched teeth after a moment of silence.

_Yes. This was going to be interesting._

"Great." Now I smiled a full smile and leaned closer to his ear to deliver the final blow. "Because after that, you'll get to treat my bruised ribs, too." Yes, I was definitely alive. And dear, sweet gods, so was he. "After all, I trust you."


	47. I Can't Hide

-1**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections. It really helps me to get better, so please feel free to leave a review. Thanks for all of those who have already done so—you guys are great!**

**About that M rating: There is language occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things. Some fluff continues in this chapter...**

**I write to music; there is a 'soundtrack' to each of these chapters. In case anyone is interested, this one's included:** **_Inara's Suite _from Greg Edmonson's _Firefly _soundtrack; _I Due Fiumi _from Ludovico Einaudi's _I Giorni_; and _Here With Me _from Dido's _No Angel._**

**I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… The Pendwyr girl is entirely my fault, though. J**

**Chapter Forty-Seven: I Can't Hide**

We discovered quite a number of things about each other in that pre-dawn light.

Fact One: he was ticklish, too. Enough to make _me_ giggle, in a most un-paladin-like fashion.

Fact Two: it was almost eerie how fast we got comfortable with each other. And that counting the giggles, all the time he apologized for making faces and the times I apologized for the giggles, and me making pointed remarks about how I haven't seen him in this bad shape since he got burnt by that exploding portal.

Fact Three: his dry humor was absolutely perfect, and made me want to break out of girlish squees every time he used it. That, along with the giggles, really made me feel like I was not quite myself; the way I felt after drinking that heady Cormyran red Neeshka procured.

And rather embarrassing Fact Four, about my own self (that constant self-examination our faith prescribed sometimes worked against our own interest): I discovered that I had a slight little mean streak running in me that rather enjoyed the fact that I had him practically in my power, and I must confess I used it to my full advantage.

"Just out of curiosity, you understand... not that I would want to suggest you are doing it wrong, but..."

"Good gods, Casavir, what is it _now_?" I said, and looked up at him. "I am slow, yes, because I am actually counting the bruises and welts. I am being methodical and pedantic, like a good Tyrran." I grinned. "You mind?"

"Um, no, not exactly." he said slowly and took a deep breath. "There are certain breathing exercises they teach you once you hit puberty at the chapterhouse that I find... immensely useful right now." He furrowed his brow. "I have to say, my lady, I took this as a punishment from you, not exactly suspecting it would take... this long."

"Ah, but you see, _my lord_, it wouldn't be a _punishment_ otherwise." He did_, _in truth_, _have a lot of rather ugly bruises and welts from that _cilicium, _and they required a copious amount of that unguent. I dabbed at another welt, dragging my fingers lightly across his skin, and was rewarded by a surprised yelp. _Yep, another tickle spot_. I felt that grin threatening to split my face, and yes, there went another giggle. "And just to be fair, I have to say," I said with an uplifted finger, trying to regain my composure, "… the scent of this ointment is strong enough that if I had any second thoughts about running my hands all over your upper body, it is almost guaranteed to have evaporated by now, so please relax." I tilted my head sideways as a thought occurred to me. "Are you saying it is different for you because you are, ah, male? The scent doesn't effect your... mood?"

"Heavens wept." he said dryly, and his mouth twitched. "I was under the distinct impression, based on our conversations before, that you had certain subjects, ah, covered by your stepfather and teacher back at West Harbor, or Neeshka or Elanee at least talked to you by now..."

"Silly." I said fondly, smearing ointment on the last welt, leaning back so I can actually reach it--it was rather low on his stomach. "I am merely trying to make a clumsy attempt at flirting. Or whatever passes for that between two paladins."

"Last time I was called silly, I was eight and it was my sister." he said, making a feeble attempt to look dignified. With me still on his lap it was just a tad difficult. "I _would _appreciate a different expression of affection, though."

"Oh, fine, have it your way." With a sigh, I carefully closed the ointment box back, put it on my nightstand, leaned back forward, and rewarded him with another of those long, involved kisses that I stopped counting since we started on this whole business. Apparently the smell wasn't affecting me as much as I thought, after all: I felt my breathing quicken again... I wasn't sure if his iron self-control would hold, but it did; his hands never moved from my hips, I could just feel from the way his fingers tightened that it was really close this time.

"There." I breathed when we parted. "I think I am done; it's your turn. With the ointment I mean."

"What was it that you said about closet Loviatarites, my lady?" he rumbled against my neck, one hand casting about for the ointment box with not much success. The way his warm baritone voice slid against my skin made me shiver. "_La Belle Dame Sans Merci_, as that long-dead ballad writer from Cormyr sung... I am sure there's something in the Rules about this..."

"Yes. Taking it slow." I muttered, leaning into his kisses. _I can get used to this_, I thought vaguely, feeling his warm breath moving up along my jawline, by my ear, then back down again, hovering along the neckline of my shirt... _I really can_. "Which is exactly what we are doing..."

My fingers moved, almost unselfconsciously, brushing along his chest, while my lips traced his chiseled jaw, feeling the slight stubble on his cheeks, the way his jaw muscles tensed, a sharp intake of breath as I reached his ear, his hands on my hips suddenly pressing me even more close against him...

"Arrighan..." he whispered my name, and the way he said that, that rumbling breathless word so full of yearning was almost enough for me to lose whatever little self-control I possessed.

"Mhm?" I said, not too coherently, continuing to trace my way up his earlobe with my lips, my fingertips brushing along the chiseled planes of his stomach. "S'thing wrong?"

"Dear gods, no..." His voice was hoarse, his breathing labored, matching mine. "My lady... my..." I could feel the steel bars of his self-control trembling, bending from the pressure of the silver-azure storm raging behind, threatening to overwhelm us both...

Then I shrank back, as if something cold, cruel and sharp, like steel, like winter, like war intruded between us... I smelled cypress and old frankincense, mixed with the scent of death, the dampness of something long underground, long forgotten but never quite _gone..._ saw a pair of yellow-red eyes far above our heads, rimmed with hate for everything alive...

"No." I said out loud, going all rigid in Casavir's arms. "NO." I didn't realize I was almost shouting. "Godsdammit, not _now_."

It wasn't the first time I had that vision... Since Tyr reknit me in His chapel that day before my trial, since that night when I first heard His voice over my head as I was doing battle with that shadow of death, bitterness, unyielding will and hate, I saw it in my dreams a couple of times, and I woke with racing heart and out of breath, eyes searching the darkness of my room for any trace of that dark apparition in vain.

"Gods, what have I done?" I heard Casavir's desperate voice. His strong arms grasped my waist, lifted me up, off him, to the bed so fast I had no time to think. "My lady... forgive me..."

I twisted aside, ending up on the bed with a thump.

"Don't!" I sounded sharp even to myself; that was my command voice. I tried to soften what came afterwards, taking his hand into my own. "Casavir, it wasn't you... please. I just..." I shook my head, casting about for words to explain. "I... saw something from my dreams... possibly from my future... not the first time, and..." I lifted my head, looking into his eyes, so large, so vulnerable all of a sudden. "And I just didn't expect it right now, is all." I forestalled his question. "Don't ask me about it, please..." I shivered, remembering the utterly inhuman fire burning in those yellow-red eyes behind the fanged iron mask. "Not yet..." I let my breathing slowly return to normal, gripping Casavir's hand like my anchor to reality. "It's... not pleasant, to say the least." I slid a bit closer, felt him stiffen and start to pull away, hands and all. I felt like crying. He blamed himself, yet again.

"Please..." I heard myself whisper. "Don't go." I closed my eyes; the Chosen of Tyr does not cry.

The back of my mind, of course, knew all along that this fragile, beautiful thing will not last long, what with both of us so new to it, and so carefully guarding our feelings until now. It thrilled me that he was able to relax this much, and now... I couldn't help but wonder about what called that vision forth just now...whether it was my own reluctance and both of us so committed to respecting each other and finally getting caught up in the fire I called up...

"I was...I am... tired." I said, barely audible still, hoping he won't take this as an excuse, but rather for what it was: an explanation. "Tired and bruised and so glad to be alive after all that we went through today. It was... more than childish of me to taunt you so, and... you have nothing to be ashamed of, really." I lifted his hand to my lips, breathing a gentle kiss on his knuckles. "Casavir, it is I who should ask for your forgiveness."

"And that's what we need to talk about." I could see his neck muscles bunching as he swallowed. "You did nothing wrong, my lady." He shook his head, gently smoothing stray tendrils of my hair out of my face with his other hand. "Whatever your reasons are for not telling me what you just saw... I respect that, as always. You will tell me when it is time." His eyes grew harder. "But I also hope that now you understand why I am... not trusting myself at the moment. With you."

I looked at him, about a hundred confused thoughts swirling in my head, struggling to arrange them into anything meaningful other than just feelings, and slowly nodded, unable to speak.

"You have your thinking face on, my lady." he said quietly, azure gaze never releasing mine. "Would you care to share some of those thoughts with me?"

"Hells, don't you go all formal on me again!" I snapped the first thing that came to my mind: yes, my temper got the better of me again. I threw myself back on the bed, hands under my head, glaring at the ceiling, frustration and incomprehension forming a tightening little knot in my stomach. "You finally got to be a bit relaxed, and then..." I stopped, trying to gather myself together again. I was really rather irrational, wasn't I?

"I am not doing very well here, am I?" he asked after a brief silence, as if to answer my unspoken self-accusation with one of his own. He leaned back on one elbow, turning towards me, face suddenly turning tense. "You must understand me, my lady, please. I do not wish to..."

"I think I understand." I whispered, sanity slowly returning. Shame was still there, the taste in my mouth like ashes and mud. "You forget that we share that link through the spell as well... I wouldn't say I feel everything you do, but I am definitely more attuned to you than it is normal." I closed my eyes for a second, acknowledging what I knew from the moment he first kissed me back, but didn't want to. "And you are right; I do need more time." The words were hard to utter, almost choking me. "You know...While part of me... gods, part of me wants you so bad it makes me hurt, part of me is scared shitless and is whimpering in a corner like a little child in the dark cellar, terrified at the thought of giving myself to someone like that. I am sure that's one of the reasons this vision came back just now. I am so..." I felt my voice breaking a bit. "Dammit, Casavir, why are we making this so complicated for ourselves?"

"Because we are who we are." He gently and carefully drew me to him, and I nestled my head in the crook of his shoulder, as if afraid I might wake up from a dream. "Up to and including getting philosophical about it and analyzing our feelings as good paladins should." Some of the tension started to leak out of me, listening to his deep, soothing voice. In its wake, the tiredness and exhaustion due to being without sleep for really rather long finally started to catch up with me. All I could think was, _oh gods, he's not angry with me, he's not running away, he's not, he's not..._

"When it comes to emotions and feelings, my lady, I must confess I am a coward." he continued, with a dry chuckle. "Especially those that concern you. But also, the fact that now I can actually talk about that little but significant fault of mine gives me a certain sense of freedom I've never had before. Knowing that you won't... think less of me, or even if there's a misunderstanding, you are willing to listen and talk about it... It is a gift that I cannot repay with anything else, but equal willingness to be open."

His voice grew even softer.

"We talked about it a while back... Just like you are innocent of man, I've... known no woman." There was that pause and dry chuckle again, so new, and yet already so dear. "Not that it's unusual with paladins, even though those so inclined usually take the full chastity vows once they are clear of puberty's urges and can see their paths. I've... never felt that calling. It was rather that... the fumbling attempts of said puberty and the thorough but somehow dry education one receives about human reproductive functions and the importance of true emotions and responsibility in the chapterhouse, left me with the rather firm conviction of... better to wait until someone comes along who would be... for the lack of better words, and thought with all the seriousness a seventeen-year old can muster... 'worth it'. " A pause. I remained silent, knowing full well that he needed time to express himself. His thinking was steeped in the circuitous and pedantic Tyrran tradition too deeply to change. My teacher often preferred to verbalize the end results only, but, as he himself confessed to me, his mode of argumentation was the minority opinion amongst his brethren. Besides, it wasn't that I didn't fall into the same trap myself from time to time. As much as we were warriors and thus prone to action rather than reaction, we still preferred arguing it out with words—and taking our time doing it.

So I willed myself to relax as much as I was able to, with the full awareness of his body against mine, just letting myself mold myself to him without the rush of want or desire: no longer a stranger, no longer distant, that contact, the feeling of another body, and a male at that, so close, so different from what I imagined and yet so strangely familiar.

"For a while, of course, the responsibility of carrying our House's future also was weighing over my head, and even while serving as Callum's adjutant, my father's letters never failed to remind me of that fact." He continued, advancing that circle of thought, arriving to a fork in the road, and I used that opportunity to insert a question.

"Were you expected to eventually marry, then?" I asked, matching my tone of voice to his. It should have occurred to me earlier, of course: he was the only son, and despite being Called by the god, he still had ties and obligations he couldn't (and probably, knowing his nature better now, wouldn't) shed. "A political match?"

"I tried not to think about it much." he acknowledged. "I had plenty of things to keep me occupied. I didn't visit the City or its social events that often, and although I was reasonably sure my father worked behind the scenes to find a suitable alliance for our House just like he did by marrying my sister into Waterdeep nobility, you could say I dodged that problem as long as I possibly could." He took a deep breath. "And after my father remarried…well, the possibility was always there that he might sire a son; after all, that was one of the reasons he did it. He must have grown tired of waiting for me to do my duty."

"That sounds… cold." I ventured. "Are the sons and daughters of the highborn nothing more than mares and stallions to be bred for the good of their houses, then?"

"Duty, for aristocrats, is a complex subject and one that they don't talk about often to those not of their own." he said, his tone growing somber again. "There is much wrong with high society, I admit… but a lot of them, and especially here in Neverwinter, still believe in the ancient legend of nobility being allotted the lot of defending and governing for the good of those less fortunate; that with power comes responsibility and duty; that to be a noble also means to serve."

"Like Nasher." I nodded into his shoulder.

"Like Nasher, like Nevalle, like the original Nine of Lord Halueth." A pause. "Like Melia."

We didn't talk about it, not even uttered her name since we saw her broken body at the Mask, so cruelly burnt and savaged by the warlock's minions and spells. But now, because names have power, I could almost see her face as it was in life, with shy smile dimpling her cheeks as she looked up sideways at Tavorick at the ball, saying '"_Milord is sweet_." I could almost hear her crystal-clear voice singing _The Lady of Shileot, _nimble fingers dancing on the harpstrings. She was so young, scarcely older than me; sworn to serve the Lord of Neverwinter till death… and fulfilling that oath so early, too early.

The thought hovered at the edge of my consciousness in that silence, unbidden but with the grimness of truth, especially in the light of my repeated vision. Death's wings had brushed me all too often these days and weeks. With Melia's cruel demise, those dark wings claimed someone I actually knew, however briefly… and with that the inevitable realization hit, all the more poignant now, feeling Casavir's arms around me, his heartbeat so close to mine.

_This was it; this was the truth._

I didn't want to lose this, this new, precious gift of slowly developing true trust and giving between us… but chances were, with all that we went through, and with all that was to come, that I might share Melia's fate. I was a paladin, after all, and a Chosen, and thus destined for always being in the front line of whatever battles needed to be fought to protect and serve. Just like I unthinkingly jumped forward at the _Moonstone_ _Mask_ to confront those hellhounds so my companions had more time to ready themselves, just like I grabbed Ballard when he broke the line so he didn't endanger everyone else, just like I had to stand on my own against Lorne and mete out the Even-Handed's punishment on him, however hard it was for me personally—chances were, indeed, that I would continue on that path, growing increasingly more dangerous, until I face whatever it was I saw in those dreams: the dark King, crowned in iron, cloaked in darkness and shadows, burning with un-life.

But I couldn't do otherwise. My quest originally started simply to find the answer to the riddle of the origin of those silver shards and the raid on my home village, but with the added and steadily mounting responsibilities on my shoulder, as a Watch officer, as a leader of an adventuring company, as a squire of Neverwinter, and, lastly, as Chosen of Tyr… I had no chance.

_Duty first; for us, always_.

So I took another deep breath, pulled back a little, looked into his eyes, and asked the logical question:

"Your meeting in Castle Never… You never just accidentally talk about things. Duty and service and…" I swallowed, "…and Melia; what do I need to do now?"

It was proof that we indeed started to think alike, almost eerily so; he didn't flinch or looked surprised, just nodded curtly, as if getting affirmation to something he was waiting for.

"You do remember the meeting with the Ambassador of Luskan, my lady?" He didn't wait for my acknowledgement, but continued. "With the warlock who attacked us and took the shard gone and impossible to trace, we ought to turn our attention to another threat that Nasher perceives might even be greater and more immediate."

"Black Garius and… the King of Shadows." I said, feeling the knot in my guts returning. "And Aldanon, and some missing manuscripts." I rolled to my stomach, lifted myself on my elbows as I thought, feeling the little pieces of mosaic swirling in the familiar pattern of the slowly assembling puzzle of Tyrran logic, almost instinctive by now. "This… Crossroad Keep the Ambassador said Garius is occupying… what do you know about it?" I asked that precise question for a reason. I recalled that look that passed between Nasher and Casavir when Sydney Natale mentioned that name, and now that Nasher was about to, no doubt, order me on a mission against the man who apparently was behind a lot of the sinister deeds happening lately on the Sword Coast, that little piece of puzzle gained more significance. That was the way my mind worked, I couldn't help it, and that vague feeling of unease just increased as I saw the clouds gathering again on Casavir's brow.

"Crossroad Keep is an old ruined castle to the southeast of here, about a full day's hard ride from the City." he said. "It has been a ruin for a while, but has some small villages and a manor closer to the river crossing. And while it is currently owned by the Crown, it wasn't always so." Memories veiled his blue gaze, his aura swirling with the mud-brown of sorrow. "Matty and I played a lot amongst those ruined walls."

"It was that village." I whispered, understanding dawning. The surrounding lands must have been his family's holdings then: the village his parents' manor house stood, where he run away from when he was eight, to be called by the god's lightning by the oak tree he told me about. It was part of the estates confiscated by the Crown after his father's disgrace and death in the Arena.

Another piece of his past was reaching out to claim him. It was hard for me to understand, except in moments like this, just how much of that past was still hidden from me. Not from the intent to harm, but because he himself was sealing off those doors still, holding the memories at bay with the same iron will that stopped him from going further with me than his honor would have allowed.

I reached out a hand, tracing the line of his cheekbone and jaw.

"This must be hard on you." I whispered. "With all the memories…I know I will have to go, whatever Nasher has ordered. But you…"

"Don't even think about it." he said thickly, leaning his face into my palm, closing his eyes for a second. "Wherever you go, I go. I… it seems I cannot bear being apart from you for long any more, my lady."

I swallowed. That was how I felt, exactly. That emptiness of star-cold that got a hold of me after the battle with the hellhounds in the _Mask_, the feeling of not being completely whole, that missing piece that shifted into place as soon as he was standing in front of me again… However much I tried to blame some of this on that inadvertent spell of mine, that was only part of it, like a reagent added to an already strong potion to increase its effectiveness.

"It is the same for me as well." His head came up at that, and I felt I was about to drown in the depths that opened up in the twin pools of his eyes. "Whether it is a weakness or strength, I don't care. I just know that it... felt like I was missing a part of me when you were gone."

His arms were around me again and I felt his heartbeat, strong and steady, against mine. "Together, then." he whispered.

"For better or for worse…" I kissed his forehead and asked, trying to sound business-like and failing rather spectacularly. "So… no doubt Nasher already has a plan about this whole Crossroad Keep business. Care to share?" Yep, that was us; practical to the extreme. Looking back, I could perfectly understand why all those rumors about Tyrrans being dry and incapable of emotions could have circulated with such persistence.

"Trust you to change the subject so spectacularly, my lady." A small smile played on his lips as I nestled closer, listening to his voice. His aura was so incredibly soothing right now: waves upon waves of different shades of blue with tiny silver sparkles strewn in here and there. I quietly hoped that somehow I had the same effect on him; we could have both used a little calm and quiet. I had no idea what the time was; somewhere rather close to the morning, no doubt. "But as you wish. The Crossroad Keep mission will require some preparations from the Many-Starred Cloaks and the Nine so all of us from your company who wish to participate should appear at the Castle two days' hence to receive our first briefing. I was told that we'll receive strong arcane support given the nature of the mission." He furrowed his brow. "The name Vale was mentioned… does that mean anything to you, my lady?"

"Vale." I said slowly, trying to remember; then I recalled what Sand said on that morning at the Halls of Justice. "One of the Many-Starred Cloaks, yes… Sand was telling me about him. He followed me for a while before the Trial to get rid of some Luskan assassins, apparently trailing me; our wizard seemed to be a mite scared of him, it seemed. He described him as someone who's rather 'unorthodox in his methods'."

"And thus would be suited for a secret mission against renegade Luskans using similarly unorthodox methods of the arcane." Casavir said, nodding thoughtfully. "I expect we will learn more at that briefing; speculating without enough data never was my strong point."

"Mine neither." I smiled at him, absurdly relieved to be able to discuss practical things involving the future with him, however grim. "So does this mean we have two full days to do nothing… or is there more?"

"We should expect payment to be delivered for services rendered in the Tavorick case tomorrow…"he glanced at the window above our head, "…or I should say today?"

"It's not tomorrow until I actually slept." I said firmly and yawned, almost unselfconsciously, to illustrate the point. "Payment would be good, I shamelessly admit; I was worried about how that would play out." Not that I would keep a lot of it; a half of my share went to the coffers of the Halls of Justice every time since I got to the City.

"I was assured the full amount will be rendered, together with all our possessions left at the Tavorick mansion." He grimaced. "Some members of our company would, no doubt, be happy to hear that."

"Have you... heard anything about how things are at the mansion?" I asked, hesitantly. I figured a runner or two following us might have reached Castle Never almost at the same time as him, but I wasn't sure. If they had, I wanted to hear what news they brought.

He nodded.

"They are... alive." I let out a sigh of relief. "Lord Tavorick's wounds are grave, but he'll live. Everyone else who was there has some burns or bruises, but nothing serious. Lord Nasher sent his own healer, and I was told the Halls of Justice sent clerics to assist Mother Superior in the spiritual cleansing of the place."

"Tyr be praised." I said quietly, making the sign of the sword on my forehead. It was a close call indeed, and honestly, I still wasn't sure how we did it. And truth to tell, I didn't feel the need to dwell on the hows and whys of it right now. I just needed to know that our efforts were not in vain.

Casavir felt my mood turning more towards melancholy just as well. He hesitated for a second before continuing, taking my hand between his as if not quite sure how to continue.

"As for what to do besides sleeping and recuperating from what transpired…" He cleared his throat. "I... um, thought we all could use something more joyous than sitting in the Inn staring at each other and trying to figure out what to come. The yearly Yule Fair is underway in the Merchant Quarter, with all that, ah, a fair entails..." He trailed off, giving me the distinct impression he didn't exactly frequent these even when he lived in the City. "And, so..." He tilted his head to one side and asked. "Would you... would you be interested in that?"

"Oh." I said, rather smartly, the first thing that sprung into my mind. Then, continuing in the same brilliant vein of thought and eloquence: "Ah... yes. I think... A fair, you say?"

"I thought we might go with the others, of course." he added hastily, still holding to my hand like to a lifeline on the stormy seas, like I did to his earlier. "We could ask them later..."

"I can tell you one thing right now. If Neesh can't keep her hands away from purses in the crowd, she'll get hurt." I finally managed to get my brain to work again, and apparently my main concern was how the tiefling would behave in a crowd. Again.

_Yep, prejudice is a bitch_. Apparently paladins aren't immune, either, even after adventuring with a tiefling for months.

"Sorry." I hastened to add, sheepishly. "That's not very... charitable of me, was it?"

"But honest." he said, sounding a bit relieved. "Are we... all right, then?" he asked, a bit of a tremble in his voice.

I narrowed my eyes.

"Casavir Korranos, what the Hells will you be thinking now?" I couldn't help it: I felt my cadences slipping back to West Harbor brogue. "Is this because you changed subject and mood yet again, and you're afraid I'd be angry with you?" I watched him shift uncomfortably and felt the urge to muss up his hair, already tousled. "Well now. I won't let you off just yet." I grabbed the salve box from my nightstand with my other hand and held it out. "All is well, of course... if you keep your end of the agreement." I stretched out, pointing at my side, careful to keep my voice neutral. "Them ribs are still untreated, and let me tell you, they are sure mighty sore by now." I stifled another yawn. "No need to look so panicked, really. I am too sleepy for anything else... and I suspect it's the same with you."

"You drive a hard bargain, my lady." he said after some silence, weighing the salve in his palm.

I quirked an eyebrow, hiding a triumphant smile. I had him now, for all that he tried to be serious and matter-of-fact about this.

"Oh, _bargain_, you say? I thought it was an agreement freely given, not something forced or endured out of duty." I shrugged. "If it's the latter, then why, of course, you are free to go. It would be against the Code."

"You are..." he started, but at the end just shook his head and my heart skipped a beat seeing that slow smile returning to his beautiful, beautiful lips. "Incorrigible and irresistible at the same time, I think, is the expression I was looking for, but I am not sure even that does it justice."

"Oh, you _can _call me insolent, you know." I shrugged. "I think we're far along in courtship that I won't go sulking into a corner for a week because of it."

"_That _is a consolation." he murmured, bending his head over my side, examining the bruise stretching all along my right side. "So _how _many of these ribs of yours were broken, my lady, you said?"

"I didn't. No one told me, so..." I let out a surprised yelp.

"Ticklish, hmm?" He looked up, with a decidedly non-saintly grin. "Now, here is the question..." I gasped as his fingers slowly traced the extent of my bruise, hesitating just a second at the edge of my shirt. He took his time, too. I resisted the urge to arch my back; the small shivers and the sparkles along my spine were definitely back. "Am I allowed to use this knowledge to my advantage or should I ignore the truth I've just learned in order to let a lady who most cruelly taunted me earlier, as she would so charmingly say, 'off the hook' ?"

"Un... fair." I said, trying to sound as ladylike as I could, but instead just ending up breathless yet again. "With all due respect, of course. I don't think that would be a fair dilemma, because..." I lost that trail of logic right there, along with my words, as my eyes fluttered close with a long shuddering sigh escaping my lips.

_Yes, this was most unfair_, I decided when I could breathe-- and think-- again. The cool salve on my skin, traced there by his warm fingers in complicated patterns, up and down along my ribs...I never understood the meaning of the expression 'exquisite torture' until now.

"Well, now you know how I felt all the time you were treating me." He watched my face intently, eyes serious: yet again, he read my mind with frightening ease. "In the name of fairness, my lady... I think we can count this even. Wouldn't you say so?"

"Not quite." I whispered. "I clearly need to thank you properly for being such a perfect knight, don't I?" I had to: he never, not once steered beyond the boundaries of what I already gave him permission for earlier.

"The thanks of a lady should never be refused." He nodded, little fires returning to his eyes. I could feel his breath on my face, and I closed my eyes for a second. "I should, however, point it out to the lady that we both are extremely tired and exhausted and as such..."

"Yes, I know." I said somehow impatiently, wounding my arms around his neck. "I ain't going to do anything untowards. Trust me."

"Well, if it's so..." His hands still tracing patterns on my skin, he leaned closer, lightly brushing his lips against mine: only for a moment, but even that was enough for me to seriously reconsider my earlier position on letting him go. Exhaustion or not, slow courtship or not, my entire body felt like it was on fire. "I accept your thanks in the spirit they were given, my lady..." he murmured against my lips, barely a hair's breadth away, "... and by your leave, I shall depart. It wouldn't do to tarry too long..."

I sighed, releasing him, arching my back a little to enjoy the warmth of his hands a bit more, knowing the truth of his words.

"Thank you." I said, barely audible, watching him straighten. "For... you know." I added, rather meekly, not meeting his eyes; but he understood. I played with fire tonight, with him, a bit too much, and I was just a bit ashamed by it. Ashamed and relieved at the same time, that he took that fire in, and tamed it, kept it and gave back from it-- while at the same time both of us learned something important about ourselves and each other.

He bowed with that perfect courtly bow only he could do.

"Always." he said, easing back into a more formal tone, but keeping the warmth of what still lingered between us. "I will see you in a couple of hours, after we both get some rest?"

"Oh, count on that." I said, realizing that sleep was finally stealing over me in great white clouds. I pulled my quilt over my shoulder, and remembered something, "And... Casavir?" I pointed at the floor. "You might want to put on the shirt... but leave the _cilicium _here, please." I hesitated. "I'll... I'll think about what to do with it once... once I can think. Would that be right?"


	48. This Kind Of Love

-1**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections. It really helps me to get better, so please feel free to leave a review. Thanks for all of those who have already done so—you guys are great!**

**About that M rating: There is language occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things. **

**I write to music; there is a 'soundtrack' to each of these chapters. In case anyone is interested, this one's included :** **_Walking The Circle _by Trevor Jones from the _In The Name Of The Father_ soundtrack, and two songs from the incredible Bill Miller (who still can make me cry): _This Kind Of Love _from _Raven In The Snow_, and _I Believe _from _Spirit Rain_.**

**I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… The Pendwyr girl is entirely my fault, though. J**

**Chapter Forty-Eight: This Kind Of Love**

The dream came back, and yet again, I was helpless in its grasp, like a small animal in front of a snake slowly encircling it in the grass. I woke as sunlight drenched my bed in its golden light just as sweat was pooling on my skin and with the remnants of a cry still resonating in my throat. I curled up with my quilt around me, waiting for my heartbeat to grow quiet.

It was… bad. I could recall so many details of the dreams, like little fragmented pieces of a mosaic that didn't quite make up an entire image. A room, covered in runes and arcane symbols, with a man-shaped but not quite human form in its middle, enclosed in a pentagram, drawing its (his?) cloak around him with menacing dignity, with words quiet as ice dripping from its mouth. "_There are laws_." the form said, and I looked where it did, at a shrunken, burnt and almost unrecognizable form of someone I thought I knew, and I felt my mouth open in a scream and my hand tighten on the hilt of my sword already dripping of thick substances not even remotely human… Then a change: a dark chamber with cloaked, masked and hooded shadows that bowed and folded upon themselves almost obscenely limber, while mad laughter blossomed around them on the walls, one of them reaching an arm to me, whispering, "_His Darkness is Truth_…" before it shrunk back, shrieking, from a clear bolt of pure light…Yet another, the change so sharp my eyes still hurt from it: tall walls with banners streaming from them, overlooking fields covered in golden wheat and divided by straight paths and small houses, a long cobbled road winding through them disappearing in the distance, while clear voices of horns called from behind me where I stood over the gate on the battlements, watching a group of armored and mounted riders approach, and hearing their horns answer in calling, a fierce pride welling up in me looking down at them… And then again, that dark and enormous hall deep under the surface, and the burning eyes of hate with the smell of long forgotten and rusted iron, a thousand graves, cypress and old frankincense, and then there were rocks, rocks falling and I ran, along damp corridors and slowly collapsing forests of pillars, and stumbled as something hit my shoulder, cried out in pain and fell…

It must have been around noon and that meant I slept relatively long, yet it felt like I barely closed my eyes. I didn't have them this bad since Ember, the nightmares, and really, none of them could compare to what I had as a child. I used to wake up screaming so loud it woke Daeghun in the other bedroom of the house. After my screams subsided, I usually appeared at his door, dragging the blanket with me, half-clutched to my chest, scurried to his bed and climbed up beside him without a word, with a gentle glow of light around me, sucking my thumb all the while. I used to just lie there, with eyes open, awake and aware, until my breathing calmed. He learned early that if he said anything or did anything, the screaming started again; I just needed to know that there was someone living and breathing around me in that quiet loghouse, while my mind tried to make terms with whatever I was seeing… I never remembered afterwards, not once, what I dreamed; when I finally fell asleep, Daeghun always carried me back to my bed and I spent the rest of the night quiet, so it was like it's never happened. The dreams stopped after a while, anyway—he suspected it was something to do with that attack on our village when my mother and his wife perished, and half the villagers with them.

But Daeghun was back in West Harbor, my cool and detached foster-father, who, apart from those nights when he allowed me to curl up next to him to get refuge from whatever chased me in my dreams, never showed any sign of other emotions but efficient caring and duty… and I wasn't a child any more, either.

But I still let instincts move me. My heart was still racing and my skin felt damp and clammy from sweat, as I padded to my door, across the narrow hall and knocked on the door across mine almost without thinking.

The air was cool and scented with the god's incense as he opened the door. Wafts of smoke were drifting up from the small altar he set up by the window on the narrow ledge, the silver statue of the god holding the scales beckoning me closer.

"Nightmares." It was not a question, a statement, as he looked at me, wrinkles of worry etched around his eyes.

"Nightmares." I nodded, and he stood aside, watching me enter, my arms curling around myself as if I was cold. "Can I… can I say my prayers with you, here?" I asked, stumbling over the words, and something in me eased up as he nodded.

Wordlessly, we kneeled on the two sides of the altar, him handing me another incense stick to light, and he lead the prayers too, my still shaky voice joining his in the belated morningsong eventually. When we were on the road, we had our morning prayers together, so I heard him enough to know just how wonderful his singing voice was: the same deep, resonating baritone that from the first time he spoke to me stirred something inside. But that morning, that morning I truly took solace in it, as the melody rose and fell, lifting my heart from the clutches of the dark dreams I battled all night, and pulled me steadily and surely into the light of the god-- and while I followed his lead and sung the harmonies, the darkness retreated and I was myself again.

But all prayers have to end; and when the incense burned down, and the last chords of our joined voices died, I lifted my head and realized that it was not quite enough.

I must have looked rather lost as I made the final sign of the sword on my forehead and stood up, because the lines on concern were back on Casavir's forehead.

He looked into my eyes. I could only faintly feel his aura, murky and weak, as if through a cloud, and that frightened me even more.

"I thought the prayers would help..." I whispered; it was ridiculous that I felt like I was five again, but I had to acknowledge that this time, I had it bad. I grabbed after his hand, held it tightly between my all-too-rigid fingers. "But they only did while they lasted..."

"Dear gods, your hand is cold like ice, my lady." he said, grabbing for his blanket from the bed and wrapping it around me. "And you're shaking."

"I am..." I said, wondering. I stepped back towards his bed and kind of shrunk down on it, feeling my legs just going out from under me. Yes, the sinking feeling of those childhood nights was back, that reeling disorientation of helplessness. I realized I was still clutching his hand and the blanket he wrapped around me both. Somehow, it seemed right. "It... wasn't pleasant. Do you really want to hear it?"

"Do you need to ask?" His voice was quiet, and that somehow broke through where the prayers only temporarily could. He kneeled in front of me, holding both of my hands in his. "Please, my lady... Arrighan. Let me help you."

So I told him. About the shadows and their whispers, about the walls and the riders, the form in the pentagram, and the returning nightmare of the dark King with the red-yellow eyes of burning hate for life. Somehow, towards the end of it, I curled up into a little ball, with the blanket tightly around me, my hands still in his as he kneeled there, barely shifting; his eyes never left my face. I felt just like that day, when I told him about how the Mossfelds attacked me back home.

"I don't know what they mean, those dreams." Even to myself, I sounded lost and frightened, my voice matching the way I felt; just like back in that house beyond the bridge, in the lonely cabin of the ranger called Daeghun Farlong. "But right now, I can't… I can't be alone."

"You aren't." he said quietly, hand reaching out to cup my face.

"I'm sorry." I lifted my eyes to his. "It wasn't this bad for a long time. Will you... hold me?" I blurted out, knowing full well just how ridiculous this sounded.

I bit my lip. It was awfully difficult to admit that I needed that; at that point, it definitely felt like killing undead in an underground crypt was nothing compared to actually uttering that question. After all, I wasn't a five-year old any more, was clad in plate mail on a regular basis, and perfectly capable of handling matters and taking care of myself and others in these past months. Part of me was horrified, embarrassed and angry for even suggesting such a thing; my human self quietly snickered while my celestial side watched with detached curiosity. But if I could ask anyone, it was him: where else could I have gone?

"As you wish." he said slowly, after gazing into my eyes for a long time. A soft smile played on his lips and suddenly I could feel again; and to feel his arms around me, his heartbeat, and the blue-silver calm of his aura... ah, it was a relief beyond imagining.

"You must allow yourself to bend a little." There was gentle chiding in his voice as he arranged himself next to me, close but not too close, one arm holding me at the waist, the other under his head as a pillow as he searched my face. "Otherwise you break. Cold iron is strong, but it must be tempered and mixed with other metals to make steel that will be even stronger and usable."

"Smithing metaphors." I felt myself smile a bit, however shakily. "Considering how much time we spend in armor, it is fitting." I reached out to find his hand, laced my fingers through his. "I am babbling, please forgive me."

"You're also still shaking." he stated. He sat up, pulling the second squarely folded blanket at the foot of the bed over me, arranging its folds under my chin and tucking it around before he laid back, settling himself a bit more comfortably against me. That also made me smile: besides the fact that I needed the warmth of the blanket, it was as if he pulled it up as a secure barrier, a shield between us, which, considering what happened to us last night, was understandable. "There." he said, with the pride of work well done in his voice, and laced his fingers with mine again. "That should be better."

"It is." I exhaled slowly, closed my eyes, and let, yet again, his aura do the rest. I could never quite describe just how much strength I could gather by merely being next to him: but it was what it was, from the very first time we've met. It also comforted me, thinking about it with a calmer head, that even now, I had to ask him--he would have been perfectly content just kneeling there, holding my hand. I could trust him like I could trust no one else, I realized with a sudden lurch in my stomach--even more than my own self.

We both were quiet for a long while after that; the shakes subsided, my shallow breathing deepened and evened out, my heartbeat matched his. From all the gifts he could have given, from all the things he and I shared and would share afterwards, that precious and infinitely fragile closeness and true sharing of self was one of the most treasured. He held me, just as I asked: but how simple that description was for what it really meant to me. After a while, his hand moved to stroke my hair, and I pulled a bit closer to bury my face in the crook of his neck.

"Not making you uncomfortable, am I?" I asked, very much aware of his nearness.

"Mmm?" he answered absent-mindedly. "Not the last, my lady. I was just thinking that maybe you could benefit from some food..."

I smiled into his shirt; I was sure he was pretty hungry too, but of course, yet again, he placed my needs above his own. I was sure I heard his stomach growling a little bit earlier.

"I must confess, that sounds good." I sniffed. "Thank you, Casavir. I... this was as bad as the ones I had as a child."

"I am sorry." He traced a finger down my cheek, following a lonely tear that I didn't even notice I shed. "I wish I could carry some of that burden for you, my lady, but as that's not possible, all I can offer is..."

"I know." I smoothed my cheek into his palm for a second, then pulled away and sat up. "I... cannot tell if there will be more of them, but if so..."

"Then I will be here for you. Whatever these dreams mean, whatever they tell you about what you'll need to face in the future, you will not be alone." he finished quietly and simply, reaching for his cloak on the chair next to the bed. "Would you care to remain here while I find you something to eat downstairs?" he asked, using a lighter tone, clearly meaning to ease me through the discomfort of my nightmares and the need to seek reassurance and security from someone else. His mouth quirked. "Given your present attire..."

I blushed. I was still wearing the clothes I fell asleep in when he left my room.

"I hardly have anything else." I said cautiously. I clutched the blanket to my chest, suddenly conscious of the shortness of my shirt. "Maybe one more shirt. I'll go and get it if it..."

Now he was definitely amused.

"No need to get defensive, my lady. I was merely... wishing to point out the possible consequences of you showing up like that in the common room." I must have had a rather uncomprehending look on my face because he chuckled. "As you are known to be absentminded on occasion regarding clothing."

"Oh." Yes, he was right; I just remembered the night of the gith attack, or that morning when I destroyed Duncan's old pell in the courtyard; not to mention last night… I blushed again. It almost seemed like we changed roles today. I was the one who was shy and prone to get overly self-conscious, and him the one gently poking fun at me. With my head clearing from the aftereffects of my nightmares, I found that increasingly amusing.

I stared at him for a few seconds, before I felt myself returning his smile.

"Well, ain't that the truth." I said slowly, a slight taste of West Harbor returning to my words. "I guess I'll just have to let you umm... pamper me a little bit, how's that?"

"About time, too." he answered. I kept staring. I still wasn't used to his dry humor and the way he could deliver it with a perfectly straight face. _Must be some special ability inbred in aristocracy or something_, I thought with a little shrug.

_Or maybe it's just him. And I honestly don't know which one is the worse possibility._

"I see; so are you saying that I'm more, ah, independent-minded than the other girls you've met, then?" I asked with a toss of my head, trying to silence my human side snickering.

"I am saying it's about time that you bend a little." He was off the bed clasping his cloak around his neck, but now he stepped back and went on one knee again, two hands cradling my face. "I am saying you don't have to hide from me." he whispered. "I am saying that I am here for you." He kissed my forehead lightly and stood back up. "I shall be back soon."

I am not ashamed to admit that I fell back right to sleep as soon as my head hit that pillow of his again. Those nightmares exhausted me, the conversation with Casavir confused me... but my mind and my body alike decided that I was safe now, and neither my human nor my celestial side objected when I curled up under his blanket, inhaling that now-familiar scent of him, adjusting my body into the hollow he made in the straw mattress during the months of residing in the _Flagon. _My last conscious thought was very similar to the one I had last night: _I can get used to this..._

I woke to the smell of sausage and honeyed oatmeal, and the sound of my own stomach growling. Casavir was sitting on his only chair drawn up by the bedside, his chin in hand, watching me.

"Oh." I said brilliantly, blinking. "I fell asleep."

"You have no idea just how... beautiful you are in your sleep." he said quietly, still not taking his eyes off me.

I blushed. No one ever called me that in my life; not even pretty. I was either too much of a tomboy, or simply too… different. And once you get used to sword calluses on your hand and armor-chafed skin, it really stops mattering.

"I guess I didn't drool this time, then." I tried to joke that away before I reddened even further. I sat up cautiously, noticing the tray placed on the bedside stand, precariously balanced on top of some books, the ones that were not piled next to the bed, that is. "Oh look, breakfast at noon."

"I thought it was simpler just to have it here for the both of us." There were two plates, bowls, napkins, Duncan's least used forks and knives, a slice of apple cake, two mugs of coffee…

"Goodness." The smell of food really made my mouth water. "That looks fancy. I never thought Sal could do a presentation like that..." The napkins were folded in the shape of lilies, sitting in the middle of the tray, the scrambled eggs carefully heaped into two tidy mounds, and the oatmeal was in a separate bowl, drizzled with honey in a spiral pattern.

"It was Shandra, actually." He smiled at my wide-eyed surprise. "So: are you going to share lunch with me, my lady, or should I be content with filling myself with your beauty alone?"

"Stop being all... courtly on me, will you?" It was hard to believe, but I actually stuck my tongue out at him. The nightmare was gone, a thing in the past. I was awake, rested, rather hungry, and ready to face whatever this day brought. "It ain't going nowhere." Although, I had to admit to myself at least, it felt rather good, hearing that from him. "And give me one of those plates, please."

He obliged, with a slightly amused expression on his face.

"I should have known better than to stand between you and your food, of course." he said, handing me my plate. "Would you like your coffee first, though?"

"Rub it in, rub it in." I muttered, grabbing the mug from the tray myself. "Everyone's allowed some weakness, right?"

"Indeed." He paused, and tilted his head on one side. He apparently had used the time while I was asleep and my food was prepared, and shaved. "But do you _really _want to start that argument right now, and with me?"

"Hells, no!" I exclaimed, taking a swig from my mug. "I know better than argue with a nobleborn brother of mine in Tyr. Mmmm, coffee. Stop staring, please, it embarrasses me." I added, looking at him over the rim. "And if you say once again that you were just admiring my beauty, I'll upend some oatmeal on your head, I swear."

"I see your charming West Harbor side is back in full, my lady." he said dryly, unfolding his napkin in his lap.

"Well, I wouldn't do it in front of others." I shot back. Word-sparring with him was almost as fun as matching swords, although it didn't quite measure up to kissing him, come think of it.

"I should hope not." He looked at me between two carefully measured bites of food; yes, he was definitely enjoying this, judging by the sparks in his eyes and in his aura alike. "You know full well what they say about Tyrrans: we can only agree about something with each other. It simply wouldn't do to disabuse certain members of your company of that notion now, would it?"

"But we don't argue! That… much…" I said slowly, staring at my plate, feeling a grin stealing back on my face.

"Precisely." He nodded.

I decided to drop the subject.

"I was taught not to talk too much while eating…" I muttered while spearing a piece of the apple cake. It was really rather good, moist and crumbly, made with cheese and hard winter apples.

"I see." That was all he said, with that lift of eyebrow that used to make me grit my teeth. Now I merely grinned into my plate and kept reminding myself to slow down and take only small bites.

We finished the meal in silence; by the end of it, I almost felt like I was back into my old self. Almost, but not quite. That strange feeling of vulnerability and uncertainty, as if I was caught in the middle of the greatest danger without my armor, was still lingering.

"Thank you." I said at last, brushing crumbs carefully off the blankets before I stood up, placing my plate back on the tray, mindful of the balance on top of those books. "For… the breakfast and everything." He put his plate aside and rose from his chair, seeing me standing up; ever the gentleman. It brought a little smile to my face, although I was aware just how trembling and tentative it was. "And… sorry for springing this on you, and…" I heard myself and couldn't help but cringe; what the Hells was going on with me?

"Would you stop apologizing?" His hands were cradling my face, his body touching mine; somehow that made me feel even more vulnerable, no matter how whisper-light the touch was, how gently his fingers caressed my cheekbones. "You don't ever, ever have to do that when you need my help. It's the true strong at heart who acknowledges that some things cannot be done alone and allows others to reach out a hand." Old pain fluttered across his face. "As I had ample time to realize since I returned to Neverwinter in your company, my lady." He leaned closer, looking intently into my eyes. "So I am saying again: it is I who should thank you, and more." His lips brushed my forehead, like a promise. " And now, if you wish to start your day, I'd suggest that we part for a while..."

By the time I got myself washed, found my last (very worn) tunic and trews at the bottom of my chest, and made my way downstairs, he was back there too, sitting in a corner reading a letter written on heavy paper that looked rather expensive. He looked like someone who should not be disturbed, so I did just that. I thanked Shandra profusely for the breakfast, told Elanee that I felt much better, thank you and did not need any potions right now, ignored Neeshka winking at me with freckles dancing, and asked Duncan if there were any couriers by with our belongings or somesuch while I was otherwise occupied.

"I thought you'd never ask, lass." he said jovially, putting down the mug he was cleaning and giving me a peck on the cheek. "Why of course, a whole committee of soldiers came by with a cartful of your stuff. Yon Casavir there signed for the whole mess, including the money chest. Everything is in the usual room. Shandra has the key."

I wasn't quite sure where to start: why did he style Casavir as mine, what was this fresh display of affection from him (I somehow suspected sooner or later he'd want some extra payments on the rooms), did Shandra have the keys permanently now and could I have a copy of that to our own storage room, should I just go straight there and take inventory but would that imply that I didn't trust him?

"I think I'll have a cup of coffee first." I decided on the safest route and carefully gave my uncle an one-armed hug. "Thank you, Uncle."

"A wise thing to do." Duncan smirked while pouring me a mug. "Maybe a lunch, too? A second one?"

I wrinkled my nose at him.

"Very funny." I grabbed the mug and looked at Shandra. "I can't recall him being this nosy before... is this your influence on him?"

"He just doesn't know what to do with his time." said Shandra, looking at my uncle with feigned austerity. "I think perhaps it's time for that supply trip you were contemplating yesterday, yes, Duncan? I am sure the girls in the kitchen gave you a list of things for the pantry." She worked a key off the bundle hanging on her belt and slid it across the bar towards me. "And here is the key in case you want to do the inventory."

"Actually..." I said, looking around the common room, "...since almost everyone's here, we might as well do a final debrief and accounting."

And that was just what we did in the next couple of hours. I figured some honest business was what I needed after yesterday and today, and, judging by my companions' reactions, most of them were grateful for the distraction of mundane matters as well. I found that, after taking inventory, most of the items 'on loan' for us remained in our possessions; there was a terse note in a palace secretary's impersonal hand informing me that by the order of the Lord Nasher, these were part of the payment agreed upon for my company, whether they were on our person when defending Lord Tavorick or not. Only the two or three most powerful sacred items were retained, _'to aid the spiritual needs of those assisting in cleaning the infernal taint of said place_'. There was also a smaller piece of parchment, full of small, elegant handwriting, containing an explanation from Sand about his absence. He was, as he put it _'reminded of certain obligations towards the Crown and that, with the offer of access to certain crafting components proved rather compelling_.'

"We shall, nevertheless, set his part of the payment aside." I said, firmly resisting making a face. If I understood what he said correctly, he was currently busy extracting components for future enchanting from various demon and devil corpses and -parts. "As no doubt he took part in defending the estate, and will aid us later with whatever crafting he can do."

"As long as I get my share and you don't insist on sharing with the dwarf who is hiding with some mystics, I don't give a damn, holy girl." drawled Bishop from across the table. We were all sitting in our storage room, trunks and chests open and objects and money bags strewn around. The ranger weighed a heavy leather sack in his hand and grinned at me. "It seems it just might be worth sticking with you and this misbegotten group a little bit longer if you manage to scrounge up a couple more of these commissions."

"Speaking about that." I said, making the last marks on my inventory sheet, checking off the pair of bracers Neeshka squealed over just a minute ago. She twirled around like a child when I told her she could keep those; they proved to be extremely useful in the fights the night before, increasing her agility and speed to almost inhuman levels. "We just might have something else coming up, right up your alley, Bishop." I remembered what Duncan said about his hatred for everything Luskan.

"Hmmm... another heroic mission for the Crown, I take it?" He winked and leaned back on his chair; the frost hasn't quite disappeared from his eyes, but that bag of gold sure mellowed him out. Or maybe it was whatever he used in his pipe. _It surely couldn't have been from the time he spent in Qara's company_, my human side supplied helpfully. "Tell us more, o glorious leader of ours."

"I sure hope we're allowed to enjoy this first." Neeshka chimed in, face almost glowing with happiness. "I'm supposed to have dinner…um, well, I'm supposed to go out today. With a friend. Is all." she added glancing around defensively.

"Of course." Shandra spoke up almost immediately, looking around as if daring anyone to make remarks about the tiefling's blunder. She mostly glared at Bishop, though, who pointedly ignored both of them for the moment, leaning down to scratch his mangy wolf's head for a second. "We all deserve some rest, right, Rig?"

"I'm supposed to be at Castle Never in two days for a briefing about our possible new assignment." I said cautiously. "Until then, we have no obligations. I will be able to say more after that." I looked around. "Would that serve as a short-term employment prospect for everyone?"

I got nods all around; Grobnar's so enthusiastic he almost fell out of his chair. His love for exuberant clothing of the expensive kind has caused him constant money problems, which was why he not only played at the _Flagon _most nights, but took various other jobs in different taverns—as far as I could tell, on occasion he even helped out at the _Moonstone Mask_… before the attack, that is.

I shook my head a tiny bit; I should not go down that path, not right now. Instead, I concentrated on finishing our little meeting and get all my stuff up the stairs without dropping anything. My armor, all soiled from our previous night's fighting, required some serious cleaning and was just returned by Wolf to my room when I got up there with my traveling chest. Shandra helped me with it; from the gleam in her eyes and the way she kept looking at me and glancing at Casavir all the time during our discussion in the storeroom, I was sure she was going to say something about that breakfast tray.

"I swear..." she said finally as Wolf left the room after I made sure he got enough compliments on the job he's done that his ears were red, "...that I don't mean to pry, but you know how people are, and, well..."

"Prying about what?" I asked mildly, deciding against shouting her down outright. After all, she surely didn't mean to imply... did she?

She had the good graces to look a bit embarrassed, but nevertheless, she couldn't contain herself. It all came out almost at once.

"Ah, well, it's just that there was that breakfast tray thing for two when Cas came down, and don't get me wrong, I don't say that there was anything happening, or that he said anything, it's just that he was saying you had nightmares and didn't want to come down just then because you needed rest, and..." She would have kept going, but she had to take a breath at some point, and I was right there behind her.

"And that's apparently not a good enough explanation for you?" I asked quietly, opening the travel chest and taking out a set of clothing that didn't look like it belonged to a stableboy. "Or have you forgotten the paladins never lie part already?"

"Oh." Yes, Shandra apparently did forget. "I'm sorry, Rig, it's just that..."

"What, that y'all handily came to the conclusion that we slept together to relieve tension after the big battle?" That came out a bit more crude than I intended, but there was nothing to be done about it now. Besides, I knew all too well that that was precisely what she and probably Neeshka, Duncan, and oh, most likely Qara and Bishop also must have thought.

_I'll never be the well-spoken paragon of paladin virtues that Father Prior so wished me to be_, I sighed inward. Better just continue in the same vein, then.

"Well, terribly sorry to disappoint. No juicy details to speak about, Shandra, not even non-juicy ones."  
"I...well, I... just..." she stammered, but I wasn't listening.

"Yes, my dear friend, you. Get your mind out of the gutter or wherever it is that you left it, and understand this, because I'll only say it once: when we finally do it, there'll be no doubt about it." I twirled around and stuck a finger in her face. "Am I understood? I am tired of people trying to figure my life out for me, however well-intended. Not to mention Casavir doesn't deserve this constant gossiping behind his back. Yes, we are kind of courting, no, we are not sleeping together, and _none_ of this is anyone's business. Are we ready to move on?"

"Yes…" Shandra said in a tinny little voice; her eyes were big, her pupils wide, and she took two little steps backwards. "I'm…sorry…"

"Goodness." I said, much calmer now. "I didn't frighten you, did I? You look like I just threatened to eat your puppy or something."

"You… your directness can be rather intimidating. "Shandra took a shaky breath, let it out loud, and shook her head. "I should have known better than letting my gossipy Highcliff side take over."

"And I think you touched a very sensitive spot with that subject anyway, so…" I shrugged. "I guess I am also an intensely private person, just didn't realize it until now. Are we good?"

I hoped we were, and she said so. But the speed by which she left my room mumbling something about cooking help at the kitchen, and the subdued way she held her shoulders, testified that something truly stood between us all of a sudden. It gave me pause and something to think about concerning my temper and behavior.

Pretty soon I just couldn't take it any more, and I went to look for Shandra. I found her in the kitchen; she was cutting up onions and sniffing furiously over them.

"I didn't even apologize." I started without any preamble, in a low voice. I didn't se any of Wolf's minions; she probably sent them on some errand. "Whatever it was you saw on my face, I didn't mean to frighten or intimidate you. The fact that, like I said, you touched a rather sensitive spot with those particular questions was further aggravated by the fact that I just plain hate gossipers, from way back in West Harbor." I swallowed. "There were some terrible old women there, believe or not." I still remembered the widow Taylor, sitting on the bench in front of her house, dressed all in black, on occasion with one or two of her friends, always in deep conversation that died whenever I passed them by and started up again when I was at a distance far enough that I couldn't make out what they were saying.

"It's okay." Shandra put the knife down and wiped her hands on her apron. "I always knew you had a temper, and that you were really... well, sheltered and sensitive about your private life. I shouldn't have pressed, but something in me didn't let go." She shrugged, with a small smile on her face. "Maybe the fact that I'm going to marry your foster-uncle somehow made me think it's okay to know everything about what's going on with you; or that I just want to see you happy?"

"Gods, Shan...That's really not the problem." I felt miserable: why was it that I kept hurting people I really didn't want to? "I'm just... all confused now and... well, last night really didn't help." I smoothed the hair out of my face. "Maybe later I can talk about it, okay?"

She looked at me long and hard before she grinned and nodded.

"Sure thing, Rig." She leaned forward and gave me a peck on the cheek. "Later when you're not scaring people because you're being scared." She chuckled at the face I made at that, and picked up her knife. "And now, if you'll pardon me, I got to get to work on this stew."

I tried really hard not to feel miserable again; after all, I had actually something to look forward to that evening other than Watch patrol or hobnobbing with nobles or more killing. So I went back up to my room, finished unpacking, pulled out the outfit Hassim has made for me and exchanged my old, ragged clothes with that one. And since I got quite hungry again by then, I went downstairs again to see if I could talk someone into making me something, since that stew could have hardly been ready yet. Duncan scowled a bit, but I could see that it was all for show.

"Supposin' you'll go out celebrating or something tonight?" he asked, putting a plate with some hard cheeses and fresh bread in front of me.

"And why do you think that, Uncle?" I asked, frowning slightly.

"' Cause it's high time you stop brooding." he said calmly. "You're alive." He pulled up a chair and sat. "I've been an adventurer long even before you've been conceived, Arrighan, so trust me on this: if you take every horrible thing that happens to someone you know this hard, you'll be a burned-out husk before you reach your thirtieth birthday, and that's with all the paladiny goodness your Order can give you." His eyes were intense with some memories burning in them; I realized with a sudden jolt of my heart that he really, actually and genuinely _cared_. "And don't even start with that 'I am fine' crap; leave that to the other paladin in your group... tho' I've noticed he's been doing that a lot less lately." He looked around. 'Where is he, anyway?"

"Had to go do something official..." I sighed; after the meeting in the storeroom he came up to me explaining that there were some matters he had to attend to, but should be back sufficiently early so that we can get to the fair before nightfall. He also told me he queried our companions and they all had some plans for the evening already, so hopefully, as he put it with a tiny smile, 'his company will not be too boring'. "Apparently there was an official letter of some sorts..."

Duncan slapped his forehead.

"Bollocks, I forgot! Pardon my Cormyran, Arrighan..." he added, as if I've never sworn like a sailor in front of him. "You got one of those letters, too; I've put it up special behind the bar, as it was addressed to you directly and the leader of those soldiers who brought your stuff back really had his pants in a knot about making sure I got it into your hands only." He leaned closer and whispered. "It's got Nasher's seal on it and everything; looks mighty official."

It surely did. Addressed by an energetic hand, the envelope said: "_The Honorable Squire Arrighan Pendwyr, The Sunken Flagon, Docks District, Neverwinter_", describing my present abode with great precision. Its back indeed bore a small seal in deep blue wax with the image of three snowflakes encircled by silver haloes.

"Pardon me, Uncle, but this looks like I need to ..." I started, but he lifted a hand and winked.

"No need; it's official looking enough that I figured you'd need to read it in privacy." He pointed at my largely untouched plate. "Why don't you take that and your letter up to your room then? I'll let Casavir know when he gets back." He touched my hair gently with a finger. "And don't forget what I said, all right?"

The letter was most unusual; I expected some official summons, a Watch missive from Brelaina, a dispatch from the Halls of Justice, even from Mother Superior... but the heavy paper, almost identical to the one I've seen in Casavir's hand earlier, bore neither of those.

"_Chosen_," it started in the same energetic hand the address was written, "_you will forgive me for the bluntness of this letter, and the secrecy with which I ask you to treat it. Events are unfolding with great speed, and I fear that the things I need to ask you in the near future will cause the things I am writing about now to be forgotten or pushed aside as unimportant, however unintentionally._

_Melia's funeral will be in two days. I would not order you to attend, but given the circumstances, I thought you'd best know about it. I know it would mean a lot to Ophala if you'd be there, although she'd never say it. Melia was her natural daughter, and her loss weighs heavily on her, I am afraid. She chose her own path when she proved herself capable of joining my Nine, following her father's footsteps. She will be missed sorely._

_Before I place another burden on you when we meet next, I wished to let you know one other thing. I am exerting some pressure on the Council to go through with reinstating the Korranos estates to their rightful heir as soon as possible. They will most likely use this as a proof of my aging and an admission of my failures in the past, but it is necessary to heal the rifts that still exist between us and to prepare Casavir to what is coming. I will ask a great deal of him, and of you, and while I am fully aware that you have many capable members of your adventuring group, I also know that the two of you will always be more to each other than just members of the same company out of mutual necessity, or brother and sister of the same Order. Cherish the times you can spend together free of care: those are painfully short, and I am afraid will be even shorter in the future. Again, you must forgive me the bluntness. Casavir Korranos is my only living relation, and thus I am more concerned about his future and well-being than maybe you'd care for. Indulge an old man's follies, Chosen._

_I wrote to him as well, asking the same thing of him: you two must look out for each other even more than before. I cannot say more, not even in this letter. There are figures on this chess table that are not what they seem, and who should be watched and kept close, but not to be trusted under any circumstances. It is of utmost importance that no one amongst your companions knows the exact nature of your next assignment until they are all at the appointed location and the right time two days hence, after Melia's funeral. You will receive the necessary instructions._

_I must ask you to burn this letter, Chosen, and to pray for me. The path we are about to embark will almost certainly end in fire, but not, if we remain true, in utter destruction._

_May Tyr turn his face upon you, and have Mercy and Justice guide you, wherever your road takes you."_

The signature was in the very same hand, energetic but a bit tired, the letters tilting to the right as if pushing relentlessly forward.

_Nasher Alagondar._


	49. I Wandered Without You

-1**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections. It really helps me to get better, so please feel free to leave a review. Thanks for all of those who have already done so—you guys are great!**

**About that M rating: There is language occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things. **

**I write to music; there is a 'soundtrack' to each of these chapters. In this one, I used music and lyrics alike for inspiration. _Past Time With Good Company_, from Jethro Tull's _The Best of Acoustic Jethro Tull_; plus a sung version, this time performed by Blackmore's Night. Given that this tune was written originally by King Henry the VIII when he was young and slender, I figured this might be something attributable to a young and adventurous Lord of the City. The other song sung by the bard at the fair is Deep Purple's _Soldier of Fortune_, in the rendition of Blackmore's Night, from their live album _Past Times In Good Company _(sensing a theme here?). The lyrics were just too fitting for not to use. Finally, from the same album, _Beyond the Sunset_, a beautiful acoustic piece.**

**I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… The Pendwyr girl is entirely my fault, though. J**

**Chapter Forty-Nine: I Wandered Without You**

It was almost entirely dark by the time we neared the square where the Fair was held; there was a cold breeze coming from towards the harbor, but the trees around the edges successfully blocked most of it. The sounds and smells of it guided us to it, largely; it seemed half of the City was there, streaming in and out of the square in front of the Watchhouse.

"That's a clever location for this." I stopped at the edge, dodged under the portico of one of the houses, and took a deep breath to savor the evening air, laden with the smell of roast meat, sausages and various baked goods. "Unless you hold it right in front of Castle Never, I don't think you can make it any more secure." I surveyed the crowd; yes indeed, there were Watchmen in it, but not too many, and I recognized some of them only by their faces from the Watch headquarters, because otherwise they were in civilian clothing.

"There was a time when it was held there." Casavir said slowly. "I remember going once or twice as a boy." He looked a bit lost as he turned. "And since that was the last time I had been to one of these…"

I wanted to laugh, but controlled it wisely.

"You mean you have invited me to go somewhere with you but you have no idea what to do?" I could see how, him being a blueblood and being almost-fully cloistered from age eight, didn't have much opportunity to mingle at various fairs and markets. "Allow me to introduce you, then, to the wonderful world of…"I sniffed the air and grinned at him, "… oh, let's see, fried sausage, frybread and mulled wine, my lord."

We both were dressed for serious weather. It didn't snow in the City, but the air was crisp and smelled like winter underneath the scents and smells of the fair. I learned to appreciate the value of a well-lined pair of leather gloves, and the warm woolen scarf Neeshka gave me. I thanked her profusely: I left most of my cold weather clothes back in West Harbor. In fact, one of my goals for this trip was to see if I could get one of those warm fleece-lined jerkins I saw on my favorite tiefling before she departed on her mysterious 'meeting' in the afternoon. If this was a fair like any other I saw in West Harbor, or Highcliff, there should be plenty of merchants selling clothes.

There was, in fact, an entire row of them, starting off, very sensibly, I thought, with one selling scarves and gloves and hats of the kind that had earflaps that could be folded up or down depending on how windy it was. I had one of those as a kid. Daeghun cared not much about fashion but much more about not getting inflammation of the ears in his foster-daughter, the kind that required Rhetta to come over with some foul-smelling thing I had to smear on my ears for a week. Not to mention the horror of staying indoors while everyone else had fun outside where due to the frost the air finally stopped smelling like rotting vegetables.

Casavir smiled when I told him that, turned around one of the hats in his hand a couple of times, and waited patiently while the merchant rooted around in a large crate to find the one in his entire booth that was lined with soft, silky black squirrel fur around the brim.

"Not sure this's worth your attention, m'lord…" he muttered into his beard.

"Nonsense." The toss of the head was pure aristocrat, the small wink following it decidedly not, though. "Servants of the Lord of Justice have ears that can freeze in this wind just as well as anyone else." Casavir dug in to his money pouch and paid the merchant without pausing. "This shall do quite nicely." He ran his fingers across the brim where a line of embroidery broke the monotony of the otherwise plain brown felt. "Believe or not, I always wanted one of those as a child."

"Who are you and what did you do to the man traveling with me for months? Keep this up and I'll have to beat the girls off you with a stick." I grinned at him. "You really gonna wear that?"

"I am really going to." He corrected me with a look that again, was pure blueblood, while pulling the earflaps down on his ears. "Why, are you saying something like this wouldn't be good enough for you, then?"

That sounded suspiciously like a dare. I lifted my chin.

"I'll have you know that I always thought those were very… practical. Milord." I added after a pause, turned back to the merchant's stall, and grabbed one of the smaller hats in pale dove grey with a white brim lined with lambswool. "And I'll take that one."

I thought if anything, that hat would guarantee no one would recognize either me or him, for that matter. And that just goes to show how naïve I was still after all those months. I forgot that this market was located right next to the Watch headquarters. There were more out-of-duty Watchmen doing their Yule shopping than I cared for, plus a lot of citizens from all Districts of the city. Apparently this was really one of the biggest things of the season for the regular folks, kind of like Tavorick's Ball for the aristocrats. And yes, I was recognized, despite the hat. And greeted, shaken by the hand, saluted, or even bowed to by quite a number of people. I tried not to feel uncomfortable, or show that it made me feel a bit squeamish—after all, this was something I was looking forward to as a relatively private alone time together with Casavir.

Yes, naïveté. Despite all we went through. And despite being a paladin--or maybe because of it. But I honestly didn't expect being greeted by half of the Watch, plus several familiar faces from the Docks district as well. We bumped into Brelaina herself, carrying carefully wrapped parcels, cheeks red from the cold; Corporal Rowley and his son, Andoras were standing in front of a stall selling hot cakes drenched in honey and cinnamon, the boy's eyes shiny with anticipation. I congratulated him on winning the district running championship cup for boys under fifteen, and had to promise again that he can come and live in my castle when I got one, and he solemnly offered a piece of his cake, which I accepted, just as seriously, before we took our leave.

"You really do have a way with children, my lady." Casavir said thoughtfully as we threaded our way towards where I thought I saw a merchant trading in furred jackets such as I coveted.

I shrugged, halfway embarrassed; that reminded me too closely of a conversation I had with Elanee way back in Highcliff about eventual plans of starting a family.

"I guess I just have a way with people, is all." I cast about for something suitable with which to change the subject, and I wished I hadn't.

"Quick!" I whispered, grabbed Casavir's arm and turned him towards a booth full of... musical instruments? It didn't matter much at that point. "Don't look; Neeshka is just over there with...um.."

"I am assuming with Marshal Cormick, right?" Casavir shook his head slowly. "And you'd rather not be seen?"

"Silly." I elbowed him gently. "I don't want _them _to be embarrassed. Neesh went to great lengths not to say who she was meeting with..." I smiled at the relief slowly appearing on his face. "Besides, I think Neeshka is Yule shopping for some of us just now, and I wouldn't want to...?"

"Ah." He nodded, understanding. "In that case..." He turned towards the merchant, his eyes scanning the various, carefully polished and displayed instruments. His hand was warm on my arm. "Should we start on that one as well?"

And so we shopped. It was decidedly odd at first, but I had to admit, it allowed me to learn a lot about him. First and foremost I had to realize that he really, really must have missed the city while in exile. As we walked, looked, talked and argued, a lot of the gloom normally suffusing his features disappeared, his shoulders straightened even more, and I caught, just as I predicted, several younger and older women openly staring at him. I had to remember the first time he and I walked these streets together, back from Hassim's shop. _He is home... _I thought; but it was more than that. I knew from what he told me before, that most of his time spent in Neverwinter was hardly the time of happiness: there was more duty than joy, more tasks than freedom, more responsibilities than pure enjoyment of sights, sounds and being amongst people. He has changed, or was in the middle of changing; and while I couldn't quite know (or rather didn't want to admit to myself) where it came from, I hoped that it will continue.

I also had to learn brand new things about him. At that very first booth, for instance, he has refused an exquisitely carved mandolin I wanted to get for Grobnar instead of the one that got ruined at Tavorick's. He asked the merchant to let him try a very simple one in the back, and calmly and a bit shyly, as if it was something to be embarrassed about, told me that it was part of his education as a noble's son to learn to play string instruments, and his father insisted that he continue even after he was living in the Halls of Justice.

"I, of course, got a bit rusty while in exile." he said with a wistful smile, running his fingers across the strings. "The first few years I got the opportunity here and there, but once back at Old Owl Well..." He stroke a soft, slow chord, his middle finger fumbling a bit but recovering; the melody that slowly came alive on the little instrument was one I recognized.

"Shandra hums that one often." I said slowly. "I just never asked her...what is it? Some court melody?"

The merchant smiled, a bit indulgently.

"The lady's not from Neverwinter, is she?" He looked as Casavir and bowed slightly. "M'lord wouldn't recognize me, but me father provided lutes and other instruments for the noble Korranos household for years. I took over the establishment after his passing five years ago. I'm deeply honored should the lord of the Blue Mansion choose to have our custom again." He turned to me. "Aye, m'lady, that song's dear to all of our hearts in Neverwinter, for good Lord Nasher himself is said to have written it in his youth when he roamed Faerun as an adventurer." He cocked his head to the side. "Why, the bard over there on the corner's playing it right now, unless my ears' a-cheating me."

I listened while counting coins into the merchant's palm, making a mental note to come back here tomorrow: I just might have found the perfect Yule gift for Casavir, something that had nothing to do with war and weapons and being a paladin. I saw the way his eyes lit up as he looked over the slender, elegant lutes, resting on their stands on the counter and behind.

The tune I've heard before, definitely: but for all that Shandra crooned it doing a chore or another, I've never actually heard the words for it. The bard on the corner had a nice, clear voice that carried, so I was able to get at least the last verse:

_Company with honesty,_

_Is virtue, vice to flee._

_Company is good and ill,_

_But every man has his free will._

_The best ensue,_

_The worst eschew,_

_My mind shall be:_

_Virtue to use,_

_Vice to refuse,_

_Thus shall I use me!_

"Was that really...?" I looked at Casavir in astonishment; of course, I knew that Nasher was in an adventurer company prior to the Time of Troubles, when he was called home to help his home city, but knowing that and being told that in his spare time he wrote songs like that... was affecting me like being hit on the head with a mace, or something very close.

"Yes." he answered with a faraway expression on his face as he looked towards the bard. "He wrote it when he was young and almost penniless as a second son, setting out to acquire fame and fortune as an adventurer. It became very popular along the Sword Coast. This company, you see, my lady, was..."

As we were walking through the crowd, negotiating between booths, browsing wares and discussing the merits of adventuring bands, friendships and the fragility or strength of such bonds (yes, what else two Tyrrans could do in the middle of Yule fair), I slowly came to the realization that it wasn't only him who was changing; it was me, too. I've never relished being in a crowd, let alone in the middle of a fair... I got quite a lot of teasing from Bevil and Amie for that every year the Harvest Fair came around. And as for buying things... I suppose that came from growing up with Daeghun: knowing exactly what I needed, getting to the place where I could get it, acquiring it and then moving on was the norm... and what really did you need in the ways of fancy items in West Harbor? You got most of your clothing from homespun wool or linen and leather, your food from what you grew, harvested, kept in a pen, hunted or exchanged for variety with your neighbors, your home furnishings by either making it yourself or pooling your resources with your friends and spending a few days and doing the same, or using the few artisans living in the village. The yearly Fair was to exchange news, see people from other part of the Mere coming in, and purchase or trade for items that wouldn't have been possible to produce locally.

Perhaps me being planetouched also played a part in feeling uncomfortable and confined in the middle of such throng; I knew from very early age that keeping to myself most of the time and figuring out all the weird abilities and the sensation of not quite being all myself in my own body was the easiest way to at least being able to function in the community. For that purpose alone, being raised by a misanthrope Elven ranger definitely was a hindrance--luckily enough, I had two friends latch on me early enough who were stubbornly determined not to let me utterly withdraw and become just like my foster-father.

But yet, here I was, strolling through, utterly unaffected by people brushing against me, nodding and smiling and exchanging pleasantries with the ever-increasing amount of familiar faces popping out of the crowd seemingly in every minute... and, as long as I kept my hand in Casavir's to where, I wasn't sure how, it found its way, I was fine. We stopped at a hot mulled wine seller's, got a drink to warm up, continued, argued over what to get for Elanee, settled that with another drink and a stop at the sausage stall where we both had chosen the spiciest of the seller's selection, again, no doubt, driven by that secret competitive streak we both possessed, and by now, two mugs of mulled wine... I knew as soon as I bit into that pepper-strewn piece of ground meat that I'd pay for this later: West Harbor wasn't exactly awash in exotic spices, or any spices apart from salt and the occasional herbs. Still, there was no retreat: I was as stubborn as my countrymen got, and the thought that a _blueblood_ might tolerate this better than I... I shook my head and took another bite, staring at Casavir defiantly.

"You might want to have some bread with that." he offered, demonstrating.

"I'm fine." I said, my voice a bit strained. "Really."

"You're being a Harborman again." He sighed, and pushed the bread towards me over the tiny table the sausage-seller set up next to his huge grill. "There's no need to prove how tough you are by burning your guts out while you're supposed to enjoy this. Please."

"I hate when you get all practical and reasonable on me." I grumbled, but took the offered bread. "But thank you."

"You're quite welcome, my lady." He turned and surveyed the crowd. "Would you care for another mug of that mulled wine to wash this down?"

I accepted the offer; by then I started to feel just how woefully unprepared my stomach was for this adventure, and would have taken anything to calm it down.

Three rather large mugs of wine, however, proved to be just a tad more than I expected to consume that evening; and especially so with an increasingly growing number of parcels to deal with. Casavir saved the day yet again, suggesting that we employ one or two of the runner boys found all over the fair and whose sole reason for being there was to deliver packs and parcels some of the more wealthy or lazy shoppers for a few coppers all across town. Yet again, I had to shake my head in mild annoyance over my country bumpkinness, but again, he saw it on my face and dismissed it with a by now familiar dry remark and a squeeze of his hand on my arm.

"Rather be glad this service is available." he said after letting the two boys go with suitable payment and directions to the _Flagon._ "Otherwise I'd have to carry all of that and right now..." He swayed a bit, looked at me apologetically. "Sorry, my lady. That last cup was probably more than I should have..."

"Welcome to my world." I took his arm. "Does that mean we need to eat something else now?"

We chose some sticky, hot pastries at a stand at the end of the fair, sprinkled with nuts and cinnamon. It was heavenly; I had to lick off the syrup from my fingers and giggled at Casavir who cast about for something to wipe his fingers with in vain. Unfortunately, the seller was running a special that included a free hot drink, it being mulled wine yet again. And we both were compelled to accept it, less to offend his hospitality and violate our oaths. Sometimes being a paladin had its disadvantages.

"Hey, the bard is playing again." I said, threading my fingers through his as we wound our way back through the slowly thinning crowd. I wasn't cold any more, but it sure felt good leaning on him a bit. "I don't know that song either..."

"It's an old war song." Casavir grew quiet. "From the Luskan wars... not played very often." He watched the bard sitting on his three-legged stool, picking the chords and the words tentatively, as if he was in slight pain himself, just as the old soldier whose words the song echoed. "Some of my soldiers used to sing it back in the days at Old Owl Well…"

_I have often told you stories_

_About the way_

_I lived the life of a drifter,_

_Waiting for the day_

_When I'd take your hand_

_And sing you songs_

_Then maybe you would say_

_Come lay with me, love me_

_And I would surely stay._

_But now I feel I'm growing older_

_And the songs that I have sung_

_Echo in the distance_

_Like the sound_

_Of a windmill goin' round_

_I guess I'll always be_

_A soldier of fortune._

As I was listening, my eyes were roaming the crowd gathered around the singer: all of them were listening raptly, a few of the muttering the words even. Mostly older folks, some I even recognized, yet again from the Watchhouse, a couple of women, trying to hide their tears, probably war widows... and, half-hidden behind another man and pulling the hood of his cloak almost to his nose, Bishop.

I shook my head to clear it; for a while I thought it was just the play of shadows cast by the few torches burning on the square; but no, the ranger was there, definitely, listening with such feverish attention that I've never seen on his face before.

_Many times I've been a traveller_

_I looked for something new_

_In days of old_

_When nights were cold_

_I wandered without you_

_But those days I thought my eyes_

_Had seen you standing near_

_Though blindness is confusing_

_It shows that you're not here_

_Now I feel I'm growing older_

_And the songs that I have sung_

_Echo in the distance_

_Like the sound_

_Of a windmill goin' round_

_I guess I'll always be_

_A soldier of fortune_

_Yes, I can hear the sound_

_Of a windmill goin round_

_I guess I'll always be_

_A soldier of fortune_

What the hell was he doing there, and why was he listening to this song? For a second, I seriously considered going up and asking him, but that obviously was the wine talking. I knew the man had secrets; I felt his darkness brush past me every time he came near, and it wasn't the petty dirtiness of everyday evil either...

I shrugged, ashamed of myself. Why did I feel all of a sudden the urge to spy and speculate, like, like...

_There are figures on this chess table that are not what they seem, and who should be watched and kept close, but not to be trusted under any circumstances. _

Nasher's words from his letter sprung into my mind with a suddenness that was almost physically painful.

_Figures on this chess table..._

"Oh, shit." I said out loud and grabbed Casavir's hand with such a force that he hissed.

"My lady?" He looked at me questioningly, trying to draw his hand away from my crushing grasp. "What is it?'

I looked towards the bard's audience again... but by then the ranger was gone, disappearing somewhere in the slowly deepening darkness, taking my sudden premonition with him.

"Nothing, really..." I said haltingly, withdrawing my hand. "Just... thought I saw something." I attempted a shaky smile. "Probably the wine." I glanced around. "I saw some really nice tableware over there that might just make Uncle Duncan's life a bit easier. Come on." I cast another glance around, just to make sure… just to see a familiar brown-gold robe and an elegant, unmistakeable profile disappear around a corner.

_Sand_. Wizard, shopkeeper and agent of His Grace Lord Nasher.

I tried to get back into the previous mood of the evening, but to no avail. My mind, or, to be exact, the half of it that was all cold and reasoning celestial calculation, kept spinning, and not from the wine either. I browsed among the crocks and plates half-heartedly, almost dropped some goblets, answered Casavir's questions with several seconds delay and decidedly half-heartedly… until he finally had enough.

"Look, my lady." he said at last, a tad more forceful than his usual tone. That alone was enough to rouse me from the complex web of possibilities my mind entertained. "This will not do. You are obviously distracted by something… shall we go somewhere else so you can…?"

"Gods, you're right." I sighed, watching my expelled breath in a large cloudpuff in front of me. "I need to think…" I looked around. "Tell you what; there's this little park right behind the Watchhouse where sometimes I took lunch when I was on desk duty. It's very quiet, has some benches and one of those hot springs flows right through it, so it's even warmer than normal. I used to meet Elanee here often, she loved to sit and meditate under one of the elms." I put my gloves back on. "That way I can think it out loud…"

"As you wish." he said quietly, watching my eyes. We stopped briefly at the wine-sellers again for a last mug to take with us to the almost dark corner of the park where my favorite bench was sitting, half-hidden amongst the branches of a now mostly leafless willow, right by the bank of the little stream. I sat down, gathered my cloak's folds around me, stared at the steaming water as I sipped the hot drink, and told Casavir what I saw, and how it brought in my mind that particular line from his uncle's letter to me.

"You could ask Sand about it." He offered once I was through, tapping his chin with a finger. "If he was following Bishop on Nevalle's orders, he'd probably have to tell you about it."

"Not really, if he was specifically told to deny everything." I shook my head. "I don't think the paladin code applies here."

"I know that." he said, a bit of irritation creeping into his voice. "But you're the leader of our group, and a member of the nobility now… besides being Tyr's Chosen. If you let Sand know that it is time you're being allowed to make some more informed decisions, he'd need to relent. Or, of course, you could always go directly over his head to Nevalle."

"Now there's a comforting thought." I took another sip from my mug, cradling it between my hands for its warmth. "I could never do that… that would brand Sand as an ineffective agent, and that would mean reprimand at best."

"All the things you have to consider when you play the game of statecraft." He made a face. "Small wonder I didn't have the stomach for it." He shook his head and leaned forward. "So: what was it that really bothered you about it? The fact that you realized one of your companions is followed around and is considered a suspicious potential mole, or the fact that he was listening to an old war ballad and seemed to be reacting to it emotionally, as if he was a normal human being?"

Yet again, he summarized my feelings with a succinct clarity that almost took my breath away. He was a paladin much longer than I, and had this observation and perception thing down to almost perfect.

"Gah, I don't know." I said, and sniffed, feeling all of a sudden quite miserable for admitting what I was about to say. "Yes, I do hate when they go human on you… the rotten ones, y' know. And gods, I feel bad for ruining a perfectly good evening with getting all worked up about another man while I'm with you… that just ain't right." Yes, I was upset all right. There went my proper grammar again. Plus, this was a significant amount of wine for me. "And don't even get me started about duties just now." I continued with a raised finger. "I was hoping to set that aside for at least a day. Now why's it that I can never do that, tell me?" I demanded, leaning towards him, so my nose almost touched his. "I suppose I'd need to learn to switch off thinking or somethin'…"

"Yes you do." he said calmly. From this close, I could really see the fine wrinkles around his eyes. "And therefore..." And before I could answer, he kissed me.

I made a surprised 'oomph' sound, I think, but as his arms slid around me, I found that I wasn't so cold after all. I am not sure what I did with my empty mug; the next few minutes were kind of hazy.

"Mmm." I said when we finally parted. "Cinnamon." I felt my head spinning; and it wasn't just the wine. I brushed my lips against his again. "Definitely cinnamon."

"Cloves." he whispered, fingers threading through my hair, cradling the nape of my neck. "And some of that pepper from the sausage, I'm afraid."

"Very romantic indeed." I wrinkled my nose, bumping it gently against his. "The mulled wine also had some pepper in it, I think..."

"Hmm." His blue eyes sparkled. "Then maybe, just maybe, I need to be convinced..."

We stopped talking again. _Yes, that wine definitely was a good idea, in hindsight_, the thought stirred vaguely in my mind through the haze of red and lavender streaked with silver.

"Not cold any more, my lady?" Yes, he was just as much out of air as me.

"Not a bit." I nuzzled his neck; I felt him shiver. "Is this the point where I make a remark about the amount of winter clothing?"

He laughed softly. I loved the sound of it.

"I have no idea." he answered truthfully. Yep, paladins never lie. "But as for out of the wind..." He cleared his throat. "I... um... have received something today that..." He pulled away and fished for something in his belt-pouch. "I haven't been yet... it seemed too difficult, alone. I thought, maybe, with you, my lady...If you are willing."

An ornately wrought iron key rested on his palm, threaded with silk cords of red, silver and blue.

"And that's the key for...?" But as soon as I said it, I already knew; there was another part of Nasher's letter I remembered then. "Wait... you were reading something before you went out today. You got the key to your house...?"

"I still can't think of it as mine." he said haltingly. "You see, my lady, if you were in need of some forgetting and 'switching off thinking', as you put it...I was doubly so. Pending confirmation of the Council after the Yule season is over, I _am _House Korranos_... _with an aged uncle and a sister I haven't seen in almost twenty years to account for as my House members." He took a deep breath. "Yes, I received this key this afternoon, and yes, I am not ashamed to admit that I am dreading to see the place."

"And yet you need to." I said quietly. "I understand." I leaned forward and breathed a gentle kiss at the corner of his mouth. "Let's go, then."

The mansion was indeed, very close to both Castle Never and the Archives. That, however, meant a long walk, so we stopped at the mulled wine seller again for a last drink to keep us warm, and I paid extra to keep the mugs we refilled. I made a solemn promise to Casavir that this was the last one for the night, really, although the possibility of him having to carry me was entertaining. But paladin constitution and the hope of some restoration spells afterwards made me a bit careless; it was Yule season, after all, even the three bridges decorated with pine, holly and bright ribbons, and if someone could use some loosening up, it was the man walking beside me who was just about to visit some rather ugly ghosts of his past. So I kept one hand in his, while the other held the mug (we saw several others walking by doing the same, so I didn't feel too bad), and told him stories about West Harbor Yulefests, the way Georg used to wake up everyone with loud singing all the way down the main street of the village, usually accompanied by some other militia members, and later Brother Merring himself, or how Rhetta always flew into this panic about an hour before her Yule night dinner was ready, screaming 'I don't have enough, I don't have enough'… or that very special last one when Lazlo Buckman got so drunk that he fell asleep in front of the Sterling house as a freak snowstorm came through the night and covered him up so the Starling twins started to decorate him as a 'fallen snowman' before he woke up and started screaming when life returned to his limbs…

"Paladin's honor!" I insisted when he finally started laughing at the one. "I can't make something like that up, and you know it! He sat there with an old pot on his head, snow and coal bits falling off his chest, holding the carrot Mat tried to stuck in the middle of his head…It'd have been funny, except Brother Merring had to come out and help me cast some healing spells over him to fix up the frostbites. Now you stop looking at me like that, I wasn't participating in the decorating. I went home after dinner bright and early with Daeghun, and didn't even stir until Bevil woke me up in the early morning after he stopped laughing his butt off and running all the way to our house to fetch me. I would thank you for not insinuating that I'd have encouraged those little devils in any possible way… Stop laughing, please!"

Of course, my mock indignation just made him grinning all the more; but that was all right. That was just what I wanted. That way I could pretend that his hand was shaking slightly only because he was laughing when he finally unlocked the side door right next to the massive coach gate; and he could pretend it too.

There were obvious signs of someone starting to clean things; once we crossed the courtyard, with weed coming up amongst the paving stones, and entered through another door into the proper house.

"I was told they started making it ready for... being occupied again." he whispered as we crossed the threshold. "Let me see if I can find a candle, my lady." His practical side started to overtake; he reached into a small drawer in a cabinet right next to the entrance almost unthinking, successfully retrieved a long tapered candle and lit it, placing it into a holder that was standing on the same cabinet. "Here we go..." He glanced at me apologetically. "It seems not much have changed; Clemins used to keep some there, always."

"Maybe he still does." I was whispering, too, for some reason. Dust was swept up, cobwebs were mostly done away with, although the almost-white furniture covers were still in place, and cloth covered most of the mirrors and large pictures hung in the grand entrance hall and above the staircase. It was... frighteningly impressive, only one magnitude less grandiose than Castle Never, and for me perhaps even more so. After all, this was the home Casavir grew up in. How did that, how could that compare to my stories about a woodland ranger's house at the edge of a swamp?

"So... what now?" I felt like a child sneaking into a place she did not belong. Reflexively, most likely springing from that very thought, my hand stole in his, and even through the thick gloves we both wore I could feel the slight tremble of his strong fingers. "You'd... like to look around, I presume?"

He just nodded; underneath the collar of his cloak, I could see him swallowing. I've never seen him this nervous, ever-- even during my trial he preserved the mask of impassive dignity a Tyr paladin always should strive for.

"Very well." I tried for a smile. "Show the way and I'll follow."

It must have been really hard, I think, especially in the living quarters; but he kept going, and I with him His lips pressed, that grim determination on his face that I knew from the time he guided us to Logram's lair, he walked from room to room, following some path only he remembered. I assumed this was some kind of ritual, taking into his possession the house and that it entailed: the name, the title, the responsibilities that inevitably should follow. I didn't want to think about what all of this meant for that tentative 'us' that existed since we exchanged those binding spell-vows in Duncan's storage room... but knew that this was just as important for him, if not more, than my promise to go back to West Harbor and tell Rhetta about her son's fate. We both avoided talking about the future much this far. I had my eyes on the present and our immediate future, which was clouded with various responsibilities, the most pressing at the moment being Melia's funeral and the assignment Nasher had in store for us, which I strongly suspected, had something to do with Crossroad Keep and its usurper, Black Garius. Thinking about that particular task, however, didn't help to ease my discomfort, which was aggravated even more as, after rooms and rooms of covered furniture, floors and paintings in various stages of cleanliness, Casavir finally came to a halt in front of a door that was more ornately carved than the ones we've entered through this far.

"The suite of the Head of the House." he explained tersely. "This was... last I was here, this belonged to my father." He turned to me; determination was etched into every line on his face. "If you forgive me, my lady... there is something I... need to do alone here."

"Of course." I said hastily; truth to tell, I had no inclination to pry into what probably was a very painful and long-dreaded moment in his life. "Shall I wait outside?"

He made a motion down the hall.

"The... library, perhaps? There should be chairs there. I... only need a couple of minutes."

"Take your time." I rested a hand on his arm for a second.

Slight embarrassment flickered through his tense features.

"I am sorry; I didn't think about the lights..." He hesitated.

"Don't worry..." I shrugged. "I don't really need it." I slightly tapped a finger to the side of my eye; my celestial heritage allowed me to see almost as well in the dark as Khelgar. "And besides..." I flicked my fingers in the familiar pattern, uttering some soft words: a small, butter-colored light sprung up above my head. "I think I'll be fine."

I didn't use that ability too often unless in a pitch-dark dungeon somewhere; frankly, it embarrassed me from early on, bringing back those 'you're glowing in the dark' memories of my childhood. But now, it gave me comfort as I stepped into the almost-total darkness of the Korranos library. It was richly appointed, but most of the furniture and the shelves were covered in dust and cobwebs. I stopped not far from the door and just stared; I've never seen these many books in my entire life. Perhaps in the great library of the Halls of Justice they had more tomes, but somehow, with one thing or another, I've never gotten around to actually visit there, so I wouldn't have known, actually. But this... this was astonishing. The books must have been from several generations; there were some newer ones bound in velvet alongside with weather-beaten and cracked leather and cases for scrolls, seemingly haphazardly, but I was sure that such a big collection must have had some kind of an internal system. So I spent some time trying to figure that out; must have been longer than I thought because I didn't even notice the cold in the room, the fact that I got covered in cobwebs or dust, or that Casavir came through the door, until he cleared his throat behind me as I was examining one of the shelves I thought housed the theology section.

"Sorry!" I said hastily, smoothing my hair out of my face; I had my cloak and jerkin draped over one of the high-backed chairs, my shirt sleeves rolled all up as I got completely engrossed in the task I set myself to in order to _not _think about anything else. "I didn't mean to mess up your books, I really didn't... I just wanted to see if I could figure out the cataloguing system." My hands were covered in dust and cobwebs; I rubbed them absentmindedly against my thighs. "I... this is my first time I see these many books together, so I got a bit... carried away. I can put them all back." I reached for the nearest stack. "Let me..."

"Of no matter." He made an impatient gesture with his head, raking his fingers through his hair at the same time. "Its just books. They shall keep." I looked at him and felt my eyes narrow: what was going on? He seemed... utterly unsettled and yet deadly determined at the same time. His aura was sparkling with deep blue and pure silver. "I... may I speak to you, my lady?"

"Sure you can." I sat down, lifting my eyes up at him. "What's the problem?" He was clutching something in his right hand as if his life depended on it; his knuckles were white.

"When I... gave you those jewels before Tavorick's ball..." he started with a deep breath, setting his jaw as if before battle. "...The set missed a piece." He opened his palm; there was a small box nested in it. "I told you those were my mother's, and she gave them to me for... a reason."

"A reason." I repeated; something in his tone made me uneasy. What on earth...?

"I have... some notion of what the next assignment we are about to receive would entail." he continued, plowing on with the stubbornness I always thought he possessed ever since he spoke to me first in the Sword Mountains. "And I also... have had a conversation with my uncle about... certain arrangements in my life that need to be made and which, frankly, I should have done a while ago." Another deep breath. "I really should have asked you that first time I kissed you, and it speaks about my weakness that I had to wait this long to gather my wits. Please do forgive me, but... you do make me feel like I was eight again sometimes."

He stepped closer and took my hand in his. I suddenly felt my throat go dry watching him opening this box.

_Sweet Lord of Justice... is he going to...?_

"This, too, was left for me by my mother, to... give to the one that I would... feel like I would live the rest of my life with." He swallowed; I could barely hear what he said next. It felt like my heart was pounding so hard the sound was filling the entire room instead. "I am utterly terrified on this, my lady, but I realized that you are that woman."

There was a ring in the box; set with the same stones, the middle one the largest sapphire I've ever seen.

"You can... always say no." he whispered. "But now I feel I could give you more than just broken vows and a wandering life when.... all of this is over. And I want to. More than anything I ever wanted before. My lady Arrighan, would you... honor me with your hand in marriage?"


	50. Bring What I Am Able

-1**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

_**--A long, long hiatus, I know, but I am back; RL certainly held me back from writing for quite a while. I hope the new chapter doesn't disappoint.--**_

**I write to music; there is a 'soundtrack' to each of these chapters. In this one, I used  
_Hummel Gets The Rockets_ and _Jade _from the soundtrack of the movie _The Rock_; and_ The Funeral_ from the soundtrack of _Firefly_--not necessarily in this order.**_**  
**_

**I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… The Pendwyr girl is entirely my fault, though. J**

**Chapter Fifty: Bring What I Am Able**

**  
**For the hundredth time, I glanced around in the gloomy chamber underneath the spire of the Cloaktower. Advanced arcane magic had this odd shimmering quality to it, at least to my senses: the air around the five mages in the circle had almost crackled from the collected energies ready to be released into the middle where the portal was supposed to appear any minute now. Our gear, including our rather nervous horses, was waiting nearby. I pitied the animals a bit--bringing them inside has proved to be rather difficult and were it not for the joined efforts of Elanee and Bishop (an unlikely cooperation if I've ever seen one), we'd never have succeeded. The fact that none of the Many-Starred Cloaks even raised an eyebrow when the horses were discussed during the hasty briefings the days before should have warned me that this wasn't the first time that these types of missions were attempted on Neverwinter's behalf. I knew this whole mission was organized and worked out in minuscule details a long time before I was even briefed: but this, of course, didn't make it any easier. Especially since I had two members of my company who, I suspected, actually knew more details of this whole assignment than I.

I tried to be reasonable about it: my cold and aloof celestial half, the one that was able to look at all of this from slightly above it all as if from a mountaintop, really wanted to. Due to sheer willpower, it succeeded. I frowned only slightly, watching Ophala, looking pale and ethereal in her wizard's robes, making some last minute adjustments to a couple of runes around the circle, listening to something Casavir was saying. I felt my hand rise unselfconsciously, touching the cool surface of my breastplate under which, covered by additional layers of padded gambeson, hauberk and undershirt, his ring hung from my neck on a silver chain.

Not much chance, to contemplate, dwell on or even savor the fact that I had it: since that night, we barely spent any time alone together. Just as I suspected; and yet, it all made it somehow more sweet, almost poignant. I caught a glance from him, looking at me in the dim light of the underground hall, and I felt something beautiful and terrible blossoming in my heart again, just like in that other room, dimly lit by his candle and my own light.

_  
"Not exactly what I was always dreaming about, becoming a Lady..." I breathed into the silence stretching between us in the library, saying the first thing that sprung into my numb-frozen mind after he asked the question I never thought I would hear. "However..." I continued, stepping closer and folding my hand over his stiff fingers holding the sapphire-studded ring of his mother, "...I believe I'll have to have a long and involved conversation with my stepfather once travel is possible to West Harbor." I lifted my face and looked at him. "I am utterly terrified, and want to run away now. But the answer is yes."_

_  
"Truly?" he whispered, threading his fingers through my hair; I felt every one of them tremble._

_  
"Paladins, Casavir." I reminded him and I felt laughter bubbling up in me like a spring brook thawing after a hard winter. "We don't lie, remember?"_

_  
"I am having trouble thinking at the moment." he said slowly; it seemed that the light that finally spread on his face was enough to make the whole room brighter. It was hard to believe how much his visage could transform by allowing his true self come to the surface._

_  
"So: is this it, then?" I asked hesitantly. "Are we now... engaged?" I tasted the word on my lips; it was potent, like the mulled wine we had earlier. My head was light, and I leaned on him as the world spun around a bit._

_  
"I believe that's how it works." he murmured. "Not that I would have much experience with it either." He took a deep breath. "As you know, I am a rather, ehm..." He cleared his throat most endearingly._

_  
"...Exceedingly private person..." I supplied, helpfully, wrinkling my nose at him. "Yes, indeed, I noticed. So?"_

_  
"I just hope that it will not... be a problem." he said, clearly forcing the words out._

_  
"Hey." I nudged him gently with an elbow. "If it is, we'll work on it." I felt the grin returning. "And maybe my... umm... bluntness will balance out your... naturally restrained personality on the long run. Hmm?"_

_  
He winced a bit, but to his credit, there was no objection. Instead, he leaned closer and kissed me with the thoroughness of a field commander planning out his devastating pincer maneuver, not leaving me room for other remarks, smart, snarky or otherwise._

_  
"Now we only have to... iron out some minor details." he said in all seriousness, cradling my face between his hands. "Let's get started."_

I felt my lips pull to a snicker even now thinking about what followed. As true pragmatic paladins of the Even-Handed, that was all the so-called romantic interlude we promptly allowed ourselves. The next hour was spent putting all the books back on the shelves that I pulled off earlier. It took that long because, of course, we yet again got entangled in one of those complicated theological discussions I didn't have a chance to enjoy since those with my teacher; and I suspected Casavir didn't have a lot of chance honing his disputation skills during the years in the wilderness either.

Nevertheless, we managed to agree on some basics regarding the immediate future, the most important of which was that we kept the whole thing to ourselves for the time being. Neither of us felt that this was a time for big announcements, let alone start talking about festivities and such-- I was still troubled by my visions of impending darkness, he was still coming to terms about what his inheritance and Nasher's plans for him might have meant. So I hung the ring on a thick silver chain I got from Aevan for my sixteenth birthday and which I kept in the leather pouch I had the silver shards in, tucked under my shirt, and kept it there. He and I were content in the knowledge that the words were said. We paid a quick visit to the temple where we lighted a candle and spent some time in prayer side by side in front of the same altar his parents donated to the chapel of the Justly Saved the next day, and left with our hearts lifted and our steps lighter, despite what awaited us.

I tried to stretch my legs sitting on that uncomfortable chair, and decided that it was just too unsuitable to sit on in full armor. Instead, I got up and started walking around, ignoring the not-too-gentle looks from some of the assistant mages who, I was sure, would have liked us to be done with and out of here, on the other side of the portal.

Dimensional magic always gave me goose bumps, even in theory. The preparations were long and costly, the theory was heavy on... well, theory, and the list of possible mishaps, side effects and what-can-go-wrongs was almost as long as the theoretical background explanations I've been shown by Tarmas in some of his more advanced magical tomes. Not that he ever attempted them as far as I knew. Although I always had the impression that our village wizard was more than just a hedge-mage resigned to produce fertility charms and the occasional potion, somehow I doubted that this magic could be attempted without a couple of associates, a lot of time and very costly ingredients.

From the hastily given answers to my questions this very morning as we were led into the chamber we awaited in now, it appeared that it was indeed the case. Vale and his special team departed a while back by more conventional means a while ago to scout out the surroundings of Crossroad Keep and to rendezvous us once we arrived. One of the main reasons we were sent this way was that we actually had with us someone who physically had been to the location of the receiving end of the portal and could supply the necessary information to those shaping the arcane powers from which the gate was built. Hence Casavir walking the circle with Ophala now, touching each candle and runestone while she murmured her invocations, marking the final phase of the ritual.

"Gate should be almost ready." Sand tapped my shoulder gently; he looked, as always, impeccably groomed, not a hair out of place. He pulled a warm brown cloak around himself. "Once we stepped through the portal, it will be cold. Much colder than in the City." He shrugged. "I'd suggest starting lining up."

And so we did; yet again, our druid and ranger proving to be indispensable calming the horses and get them moving. They could not, however, do anything with Casavir's Elbriel. The huge warhorse was by nature rather nervous, and now, amongst walls of stone, smell of incense and unguents, chanting and murmurs, he tossed his head, snorted and started to glance around in a way that I started to recognize as his pre-battle look. He clearly needed his owner's guidance; and so Casavir, abandoning Ophala's side, got busy calming him down.

"The portal is open." Ophala announced into the sudden stillness of the room, the silence broken only by Elbriel's snorting, and the faint humming of the charging portal. "Squire Pendwyr, are your people ready?"

It took me a second to realize she was addressing me: it still sounded so fresh, formal and distant, my title and my last name together like that. Also the fact that yet again, one of Nasher's people looked at me like a leader… I couldn't suppress a nervous swallow before answering.

"We are." Holding onto Lorra's reins like something secure, I murmured a quick invocation and glanced around to make sure I wasn't just making it up. Fortunately, my merry little band was traveling together long enough so that, indeed, they needed no more preparations.

"It should put us a couple of miles out of the castle." Casavir furrowed his brows as he patted Elbriel for one last time. "Vale and his men will look for our signal and rendezvous us as soon as possible; we'll just have to sit tight and wait until they arrive."

"Well well. Who put His Highness up as second-in-charge, holy girl?" Bishop couldn't resist, of course. "Or did you transfer command authority and forgot to tell?"

I looked at him and knew that I had to deal with this right here and right now, otherwise he will not let go. I caught a glance from Sand, and remembered how I thought I had seen him following Bishop at the Yule fair a few days back.

"I received the commission to lead this operation from Lord Nasher." I addressed that not only to Bishop but to the entire group. I realized that I neglected to really treat this as a military operation, as opposed to just one of our usual adventurer-type romps in a cave or woods. "Casavir has knowledge that is unique amongst us: he knows the area we're going into well enough that he could assist in setting up the portal through which we'll be traveling soon. More than that, he does have actual military command and combat experience, something none of us can really say. To answer your question, Bishop: yes, I consider him as my second-in-command for the duration of this mission, and since all of you signed up and took your bag of gold, I expect you to do the same. If anyone has problems with that, should have discussed it before we entered this room. Questions?"

There were no questions; Neeshka actually stuck her tongue out at the ranger while adjusting the strap of her main gauche on her hip, and Elanee shook her head slightly wearing the exact same expression that I saw on Retta Starling's face whenever her twins bickered.

Then… then there was no more time for observations. The portal loomed before me, shimmering with a pearlescent light, the humming steadily increasing to a high-pitched whine as I stepped up to the platform, still holding Lorra's reins.

"It's all right, girl… steady… just steady…" I whispered to her as my outstretched left hand touched the shimmering web of energy before me. "It will be just a moment…"

I wasn't sure whether I was talking to my mare or to myself. My only experiences with portals were those ill-fated Gith constructions, only one of which I had to actually step through. Apparently their green-skinned race of outsiders was skilled in building these, based on how many they were able to use to get to various places in our Material Plane and how they were able to transport themselves from their home, wherever that might have been. However, since one of their constructions exploded literally just as I left it, understandably I was a bit nervous stepping through now, even though this obviously was set up and maintained with the greatest care and security here in the underground chambers of the Cloaktower. I glanced once more at Ophala, standing with her mage's staff raised above her head next to the pedestal, her face pale and wan as she concentrated on maintaining her part of the magical energy net holding the gate together, and I recalled how I've not seen any expression on her face since Melia's funeral yesterday.

_We all turned out for that one, even Bishop, which surprised me at first. The weather was horrible, cold drizzly rain in tiny drops that seemed to find its way through any amount of supposedly waterproof clothing or fur, accompanied by gusts of icy winds. The weathermages of the City apparently weren't concerned about the Blacklake cemetery's climate compared to the strawberry gardens', it run through my mind absurdly as I stood there trying to crawl further into my blue cloak and the new furred hat from the fair the day before.  
There were speeches and Nasher himself made an appearance while the Nine served as pall-bearers… but all I could see was Ophala's heart-shaped face, utterly expressionless, standing a bit behind everyone in an unadorned cloak of sable fur, unconcerned about how the steadily falling rain plastered her otherwise always perfectly coiffed hair onto her scalp._

The concern that gripped me now watching her was the same that tore into my heart back then: the loss of a loved one so close. Would I be able to cope with it like she did? Or would I go down on the path of despair, darkness and eventually, even worse? Paladins lived on one edge of the spectrum of emotions, or strived to… how easy would it be, if I lost someone dear to me (and there was always, always these days, the unselfconscious stirring of my fingers towards where Casavir's ring was pressing against my skin) to have myself let fall towards the other end, the dark abyss of those Fallen? And if not him… who, amongst my companions, amongst those I shared my life with since I left West Harbor?  
I tried to push those thoughts away, but it seemed that they clung to me persistently these days, along with the nightmares. Acknowledging to have them, and trying to fill my mind with images that temporarily chased them away, enjoying those memories more than I dreaded the possibility of might-have-beens was the only way to deal with them, however temporary… so that's what I did. And those memories indeed carried me through the gate's chaos, the swirls of indescribable colors, sounds and smells, the feeling of being watched by something as I took the step bridging the hundreds of miles between the Cloaktower and our supposed destination, holding tight to Lorra's reins with one hand, and resting the other on my breastplate where Casavir's ring was hidden.

It was, indeed, cold. That was the first conscious thought entering my mind, immediately followed by an almost instinctive murmuring of the invocation for detecting evil. As I glanced around, I saw all my companions around me, at battle readiness already as well. Elanee and Sand with some shimmering detection and protection spells; Neeshka and Bishop darting to the side to scout out our surroundings, the ranger's wolf following close behind; Grobnar, as usual, stayed slightly behind, with his brand new mandolin in his gloved hands. Shandra's eyes, like my own, were darting around, taking in our surroundings: a copse of trees, clustered around a giant oak, the towers of Crossroad Keep jutting towards the early morning sky directly ahead upslope. We were on a hillside, almost directly below the gates, with a twisting road leading to them.

It was an almost perfect location: Casavir must have had some strong memories of this particular place indeed to place us. I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding--in that book Tarmas has shown me, there were cautionary tales about misplaced portals ejecting their travelers inside walls, gates, the sea... While I trusted that the combined efforts of five potent Cloaktower mages and the excellent memory of a Tyrran paladin brings us here safely, experiencing the right thing was a profound relief to say the least.

"Thank you." I breathed, turning towards him, expecting him to be, like the rest of us, all at the ready; and felt an almost physical shock of him not being there by my side. For a brief, chilling second, I thought we lost him, that he somehow got tangled up in the in-between spaces of transition... but instead, he was standing by the old oak tree behind us, one hand on the trunk, head bowed, as if deep in thought or pain. As I stepped towards him, his head came up, and I nearly staggered back from the depth of memories in his eyes, clearly visible even in the scarce morning light.

"What happened?" I asked, my voice coming up almost panicky. I saw from the corner of my eyes Sand looking at me sharply, and I nodded to him. "Sand, could you send up the signal, please? I'll have to see what's going on with Casavir..."

"Just be quick..." The wizard nodded, and pulled a scroll from his case hanging from his belt. We had a prearranged series of sound patterns mimicking specific birds to signal to Vale's team that we arrived. Yes, it was complicated, but I wasn't responsible for setting this part of the mission up either. Right now, however, I had more pressing concerns than worry about how Sand would generate random animal sounds. My second in command was acting out of sorts, and since this was my mission, I had to figure out why, personal relations aside. It might not have looked like the right decision, but if there was something wrong, something possibly jeopardizing this operation, and/or our lives, I needed to know, and fast.

And I already started to learn that if I am to continue the path of the Chosen, I should be making quick decisions like this on an almost daily basis.

"Casavir?" I stepped closer, carefully placing a hand over his gauntleted hand where it touched the tree. "Is something wrong?"

A long sigh; that was all the answer I got first. His blue eyes were glassy and far-looking under heavy lids as he slowly raised his gaze to meet mine.

"Forgive me." he said simply. "It wasn't my intention to...cause any problems with the mission. I merely... had to pause. So many memories tie me here...to this exact place. Which is why I was able to guide us." he added, with one of those apologetic half-smiles of his. "We used to play here... whenever my family visited, me and... Matty and others from the village, whenever I could get away." For a brief second, he smiled at the memory. "Sometimes I got rather...creative at escaping from the manor house. Later, I returned as often as I could. This tree..." he touched the bark gently over and over again, almost as if he tried to draw strength from it..."I consecrated it to Tyr myself." I just noticed the little hollow in the giant trunk just around eye-height, with a weather-beaten small stone image of the god standing there.

He looked up to the bare branches, between which snow started to fall lightly, and shivered.

"I am sorry, my lady." He straightened and withdrew his hand from the trunk. "I wouldn't jeopardize the mission any further. I am your second-in-command and..."

"...and so much more besides." I said, as gently as I could. "We might not show how we feel most of the time, but that doesn't change the fact that I have this here..." I tapped my breastplate where I hid his ring. "I understand how strongly you feel about this place... well, as much as one can understand another's feelings, anyway." I added after a moment of hesitation. "And I know you'd never let personal feelings interfere with your duty." I rested a hand on his shoulder. "So let us follow the others now and do our duty. When this is over, we... if you'd like, perhaps we can offer a prayer here."

"I would like that." he said, after a long pause. "Very much." He held my hand in his briefly; I thought I could feel the warmth of his fingers even through the steel of gauntlets. "Lead on, my lady."

We slowly followed the path the others disappeared on, through the snowfall that was getting stronger by the minute. It lent a surreal, almost dream-like quality to everything... until we reached where the rest of the company has stopped, on the wide, misused path leading up to the castle gates, amongst burnt-out hulls of houses once belonging to a small village hiding in the shadow of the castle walls.

They were surrounding something, the horses in a group a little to the side. As we approached, Shandra turned towards us, her face pale and angry, voice shaking, and not from the cold.

"That farmer... they didn't even bury him, they just left him for the vultures." A body lay in front of her, snow slowly obscuring its contorted features.

"If so, the vultures won't get much meat off him." Bishop's voice was icy and dismissive, with the objectivity of someone who'd seen this before. " He's been charred pretty badly."

"Show some respect for the dead, Bishop. " Shandra hissed.

Bishop looked irritated as he shrugged, eyes darting to and fro surveying the path and the trees surrounding it.

"Little girl, farmers living too far from a well-traveled road or town die all the time - something you've barely avoided up to now. This one, at least he died quick." Another glance at the body. " It looks like a fireball burned his worthless body to ash."

There was really no time for this; I could see Sand shaking his head at the argument.

"Quiet, Bishop, and show some respect for the dead." I said with a nod. "We'll have to move on, but he'll get a proper burial once we're done here, Shandra, I'll see to it." This has reminded me too much of Ember; this smelled like Luskan all over again.

"Thank you - this poor man deserves as much." Shandra said quietly and with a last angry glare at the ranger turned from the farmer's corpse.

"Side with the little farm girl all you want, holy girl, but if she doesn't watch herself, she's going to end up a piece of firewood like this fool here." Bishop sniffed. "Not that I care... but we better be quiet unless we also want to..." He cut off the sentence abruptly and whirled around, lifting and aiming his bow at the ready towards the open fields on the other side where a couple of figures emerged from between the trees like silent, efficient shadows between the falling snow.

"I'm with the Many-Starred Cloaks." I heard one of them on an urgent voice. "This way, quickly, before you give us away!"

"Vale?" Sand stepped forward. "About time."

"Sand." The leading figure, a tall, lean elf with narrow face and pale gold hair, nodded coldly. "I could say just the same." His eyes surveyed us. "Follow me, and quickly. We can't waste any time."

It was a short, fast and blurry journey to almost directly to the gates amongst the trees that overgrew the area. In the heydays of the castle, I am sure there was a perimeter maintained that was clear of everything that could disguise the approach of anything hostile towards the walls; but those days were long gone, and whoever used the buildings inside the crumbling walls did not waste time and resources on cleaning out the trees and shrubs that crept up almost to the very foundations.

"The Luskans change guard shifts around this time, moving men in and out of the Keep." Vale whispered as we crouched amongst some young, bare-branched elms and a tangle of various shrubs. A couple of his crew tended to our horses, leading them away to where their back camp was, while the rest of them waited with us. "We were able to translate some of the writing in that journal you recovered from Arval, and if we're right, something very bad is taking place in there."

I felt something cold and clammy sliding down my spine, and it wasn't snow finding its way amongst the plates of my armor.

"Something they needed Aldanon kidnapped for." I whispered. "And something they needed this particular location for."

"I recommend we strike hard and fast, hopefully taking them by surprise and disrupting their plans." Vale nodded, his eyes fixed on the gate. "You have arrived exactly as planned; I like that." He jerked his head towards my companions. "I heard about your merry little band, Squire... an impressive array of accomplishments...worthy of Lord Nasher's trust." A brief smile followed that statement. "Despite the inclusion of a certain moon elf, of course."

"I take it you and Sand are not friends." I said cautiously. I remembered what Sand told me once about Vale. _"I don't think you met Vale yet, and that is just the way it should be. If you do, that usually means you either won't live too long, or that you are doing something insane and crazy on Nasher's behalf and he is the one sent backing you up. He is the most…unorthodox of the Many-Starred Cloaks, and that's all I am going to say for now. "_

The strange grin was back on Vale's narrow face again.

"Let's just say we try not to get in each others' way, shall we?" I caught Sand rolling his eyes at that, and felt my face twist into a smile, too. Under other circumstances I would have asked: there was obviously a history behind these two, and not necessarily a negative one. Now, however, we had some more pressing matters to attend to.

"What are we up against?" I asked instead, trying to peer beyond the falling snow, towards the gate.

"Around twenty Luskan soldiers in the courtyard - most of them asleep - and a handful more inside the Keep." Vale shrugged. "The Arcane Brotherhood wizards will be more of a challenge, but we can handle them."

"You're not certain of the Brotherhood's numbers?" I wrinkled my forehead. That might pose a problem, especially if they had some higher ranking magic users.

"Luskan is just probing our defenses. The Hosttower wouldn't risk too many wizards on this sort of mission." Vale glanced behind him where the members of his company started to assemble. "All members of my team are of the Many-Starred Cloaks... we'll be more than a match for those outside. As for those we might find in the Keep itself..."

"That's why we're here." I nodded. "To stop Black Garius' ritual. Let's get to it, then."

Our preparations didn't take long. Vale had an old sketch map of the castle, which got quickly augmented by additions from Casavir's memory. After a brief discussion, we opted for the suggestion Neeshka came up with and let her and Bishop take point with the guards at the gate.

"We're your sneaks." she explained while peering towards the Luskans, face unusually serious as she checked out her daggers and various other instruments and bottles in her belt. "We can slip in there, aided by some, um, you know, tricks from Sand and these guys, and do the dirty work so you don't have to, quick and clean and fast."

And that was exactly what they ended up doing. Vale vastly preferred this approach, and one of his fellow mages, named Nathe, even went with my two companions, after casting some complex enchantments over himself and them with an elegant flick of a wrist that made them almost blend into the early morning shadows.

"Obviously, he was the sneak in their group." I muttered aside to Casavir, who acknowledged the remark with a wry smile, face taut with concentration as he added the last lines to the sketch of the Keep itself with a piece of charcoal.

"And now we wait." he said, handing the map back to Vale and pulling his gauntlet on. "There is an open courtyard over the gates." he added, glancing at me. "With a lot of overgrowth and decrepit buildings... not sure if they repaired anything beyond a part of the gatehouse."

Vale shook his head.

"From what we found out, nothing is fixed up... they concentrated on the Keep itself, some of the living quarters on the first floor, and there was activity in the basement."

I leaned over the wizard's shoulder, studying the map a bit. It looked pretty straightforward, but I had no doubts that the conditions inside a half-ruined castle were far from the clear-cut image the sketch presented. My companions crowded around, wanting to take a look; we conferred in hushed tones for a while.

Waiting was always the hardest part of a fight (yes, waiting to start a fight is part of it, and an essential one)-- this one was no exception. So when Neeshka showed up, seemingly out of nowhere, and tapped my shoulder, we all felt we were ready.

"Done." she whispered, gesturing towards the gate. "Nathe and Bishop are standing by... the gate is open."

"Let's go." Vale nodded to his companions curtly, and started chanting as we moved towards the gate; Sand, Elanee and Grobnar followed suit, and I saw Casavir's protective magic shimmering to life as well. I cut to the front: my unknown father left me his long stride, so it wasn't too hard, even in full armor.

As soon as we neared the gate, I glimpsed Bishop and Karnwyr in front of the gatehouse's half-open door. The ranger's face was illuminated by the light of a lamp from inside, casting harsh shadows across it.

"There were four of them." he said quietly; I saw blood on his wolf's muzzle. Through the half-open door I could see two legs clad in scalemail-covered boots sticking out at an unnatural angle. "Might have more further on, so if I were you, I'd hurry."

We had more, indeed. The increasing snowfall made everything seem just a bit like it was out of some kind of a tale you might have heard as a child by the fireside: a daring raid on a castle in the pale light of morning filtering through the thick blanket of pure, large flakes. There was nothing epic or tale-like about the Luskan soldiers in the courtyard, though, unless we talk about a nightmare or one of those tales intended to frighten a child into an absolute rigid state of dread instead of sleep.

Vale didn't waste any time on subtleties: our arrival was heralded by a barrage of fire spells shooting out of his and his team members' fingers and wands. As we rushed into the courtyard, abandoning any pretense of subtlety, I could hear someone shouting: _The doors! Get the doors_!, then, as I slipped into the god's battle time, the voices slowed down along with the movements, and I found myself staining the snow on the ground with the blood of Luskans. Red and white mingled with the black of the soil we kicked up as we danced the dance of death. Faintly I heard more cries talking about rallying and pushing us back, then a boom of metal as I was busy dodging a mace blow directed towards my head, and as I risked a glance towards the keep standing in the middle of the rubble-strewn courtyard, I could see the gates slam shut behind some robe-clad figures that seemed eerily familiar.

"Fucking Shadow priests again, Rig!" panted Neeshka right next to me, shaking blood off her rapier. That just confirmed my suspicion. "How many are there of these, anyway?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" I shot back instinctively, while dispatching yet another of the Luskans, finding the gap between his scale-armored shoulder and torso. "Wouldn't _I _like to know, for that matter?" I added as I spun and lunged, bringing my sword down again. Shadow priests allied with the Arcane Brotherhood... I wasn't looking forward to whatever waited for us inside the keep of the castle.

"Those doors are the only ones leading to the Keep." Casavir stopped next to us, sheathing his sword. We ran out of enemies for the moment. "Let's hope that the Hosttower group can deal with whatever sealed it shut." He inclined his head towards the faint reddish glow that emanated from the closed gate--and towards the very frustrated Vale standing in front of it.

"Damn it, Nathe, Sevann, I want those doors open!" Vale was slapping a hand against his thigh in frustration. " Now." He noticed us stepping up and turned, the frown deepening by his nose. "Sorry about the delay; this should only take a moment."

"Vale." The mage called Sevann was a short, stocky fellow, with a permanently sour expression on his face. "We are being counterspelled. I don't think we're going to be able to open the doors from this side."

"Wonderful." Vale clicked his tongue. "Looks like the Brotherhood has a few tricks of its own."

"The Brotherhood." I repeated, quickly looking around. We were the only things alive in the courtyard, and as far as I could tell, no one was seriously hurt. Elanee was busy smoothing some healing salve on Grobnar's forehead: judging by the faint glow surrounding it, it was one of her more potent ones.

"The Arcane Brotherhood of Luskan." Vale repeated impatiently. "You know, the ones we were sent to intercept and neutralize? The ones who kidnapped a Neverwintan citizen from his own home?"

"Battles are usually unpredictable." Casavir set his mouth in a grim line: I could tell he disapproved of the tone in Vale's voice. "As we are all without serious injuries, I would think a thanks to the gods would be in order before we move to the backup plan."

"Backup plan." It seemed I was reduced to echoing sentiments from others. The snow kept falling and large flakes started to accumulate on the open visor of my helmet. I brushed it off impatiently. "Someone care to enlighten me? Please." I added, as I remembered my manners. I also remembered to clean my sword on the robe of a fallen Luskan before sheathing it.  
Obviously, again, I was behind others regarding planning this whole operation. _One of these days_, I vowed silently, _I will be briefed ahead of time about things I am supposed to do._

"I know this keep has an escape tunnel somewhere." Vale took a deep breath and steadfastly glared to a point above my head. That was just fine with me; what little impression I gained about the wizard, I concurred with Sand's old assessment about him. He definitely was on the not-my-favorite-people list. "I want you to find the tunnel exit and use it to get inside the keep." he continued. "Once you're inside, kill whichever wizards are countering our spells so we can open the doors."

"That simple, eh?" Bishop sauntered over, a bunch of his arrows he yanked out of fallen Luskans in his hand. "I'm getting a little tired of these orders, holy girl. Just how on earth we're supposed to find this secret entrance if it is secret?"

I felt my eyes narrow; I realized I knew the answer before Casavir could even speak up.

"I think we have someone here who knows this area better than any of us, right?" I turned to him, keeping my face carefully neutral.

"They had it end in the mountains, far beyond these walls, where invaders would be unlikely to look." He returned my gaze levelly. "I can lead you to it."


	51. The Key Holder

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**I write to music; there is a 'soundtrack' to each of these chapters. In this one, I used **

_**Baraka**_** from Stellamara's **_**The Seven Veils**_** and two songs from Azam Ali's haunting **_**Elysium for the Brave**_**: **_**In Other Worlds**_** and **_**In This Divide**_** .**

**I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… The Pendwyr girl is entirely my fault, though. **

**Chapter Fifty-One: The Key Holder**

My head hurt.

It hurt basically since we finished our business at Crossroad Keep and Vale relayed the orders to return to Neverwinter immediately through the same portal we came. Immediately, as in 'do not stop, do not think, do not contemplate the fact that we were bone-tired, battered around and depleted all of our spells, scrolls and other energies, or the things we've learned in the basement of the Keep'... just go back, as simple as that.

And there was Aldanon. Found in what must have been the rubble-strewn library of the castle once, the old man continued to be maddeningly confusing and confused even after we returned to the city. He muttered disjointed sentences about stones cleft in two and how he needs to go back to the Keep in order to continue his research...and he wasn't more forthcoming concerning the identity of the prisoner Vale and his companions found in the cell next to him either.

"This prisoner you have... it seems that she is of the same stone as the githyanki, but yet she is not." Right now, he seemed to be making Captain Brelaina's head hurt. I was summoned to the Watch headquarters promptly by Sir Nevalle, who showed up at the Flagon himself the morning after we got back. I barely got some sleep in before Duncan woke me up with the news that the Captain of the Nine was waiting for me downstairs.

"_I have been ordered to find you and bring you to the prison at once." Nevalle's face bore an expression I've rarely seen on it: confusion. _

"To the prison." _I said slowly, still groggy from sleep and sore from my half-healed wounds I took while dispatching Black Garius the day before. It wasn't easy, it wasn't pretty... and in some ways it disturbed me more profoundly than confronting the demons at Tavorick's and at the Mask._

_A paladin, especially a plane-touched, is expected to confront evil in its demonic form... but the magic Garius used and which permeated the entire Keep had a different flavor, one that gave me the cold sweat of nightmares, recalling those dreams of burning eyes of hate and the scent of old death, cypress and frankincense, a thing locked away behind wards and protection spells for eons..._

_The King of Shadows._

"_One of the prisoners has asked for you. By name." Nevalle shook his head, his voice rousing me from my thoughts. "I do not know why or how," he answered my unasked question, "but Captain Brelaina wanted you to speak to the prisoner - she felt your presence could speed the questioning." Seeing the expression on my face, he added, tone serious." Forgive me, Squire Pendwyr, but this is a matter of some haste."_

_That official title, if nothing else, indicated that I was not to tarry, take Duncan's offer of breakfast, or even coffee, or wait for any of my companions who still slept._

And thus, I was standing in Brelaina's office now, listening to Aldanon babbling about githyanki, and feeling my headache growing steadily worse.

"You see, both were once one people, at one time, even though time is a very difficult thing to measure depending on the Plane, and that's not counting time in the Astral Plane or on..."

Brelaina seemed slightly impatient; furrowing her brows, she cut the sage off, beckoning me closer.

"Forgive me, Aldanon, is this prisoner a threat or not?"

Aldanon didn't look a stitch worse than when I first met him. Garius obviously treated him well in captivity to earn his cooperation so he'd share his research with him. Now, safely returned to Neverwinter, he sat in an armchair in Brelaina's office as if he'd always been there, his great white mane and beard billowing about him as he shrugged expansively.

"Oh, I don't know _that_. I do know that the githzerai and the githyanki have been in a state of war for millennia. It is common knowledge."

The Captain of the Watch frowned.

"Of course. An oversight on my part." she said drily, but Aldanon seemed to be completely oblivious to sarcasm. His brilliant blue eyes alighted on me.

"So I should think if your young lieutenant here..." he paused and winked,"... well met again, by the way, you seem to be everywhere... is hunted by the githyanki, then the githzerai, and this githzerai prisoner, would be allies, by default." He shrugged again, gracefully for such an old man. "But I could be mistaken." His face took on that expression where one could never tell if he was serious or just yanking one's chain. "I suppose we could see if she tries to kill any of us, but that test has numerous procedural flaws in its execution... if you will pardon the semantics."

Brelaina threw up her hands and turned to me, her always serene facade now somewhat mussed up.

"Lieutenant... or should I say Squire Pendwyr, thank you for coming. The prisoner has asked for you personally."

"Captain." I nodded politely, shrugging back the clasp of my cloak to my shoulder. "Sir Nevalle here was somewhat vague about the purpose of this unexpected and early summons: may I ask...?" I still didn't know what was going on, and it started to bother me a bit. However, I couldn't let my temper flare, despite the lack of quality sleep and the utter lack of information about what I was facing here.

"I was hoping you might be able to help us out concerning her identity - or her intentions." Brelaina continued smoothly. "We are talking about the woman found in the cell adjacent to Master Aldanon's while he was...ah, enjoying the hospitality of the mage you dispatched at Crossroad Keep." She threw a sideways look at the sage. "Aldanon has a theory, but I'm afraid..." She shrugged elaborately, eerily similar to her uncle, Sir Grayson for a second. "Despite the advice of Master Aldanon, I think it would be best if you simply spoke to the prisoner and let this matter sort itself out - without further speculation."

And thus I ended up walking into a dark but clean prison cell at the basement of the Watch headquarters, with a headache that grew increasingly worse, accompanied by the Captain of the Nine, the Captain of the Watch, and the captain of odd pronouncements. I felt honored. Really. If I had a couple more hours of sleep, I might even have been able to tell them so.

The occupant of the cell was sitting cross-legged on the floor, and I must confess I reached for my sword as soon as I laid eyes on her. She looked way too much like those githyanki that plagued me since that night in West Harbor. It was definitely the lack of sleep, I realized just in time, and relaxed my hand. The...person in the cell was way too relaxed and calm, and upon second examination she bore definite differences in skin tone and expression that reminded me of what Aldanon just said about githyanki and... githzerai, was it?

"I felt your presence before my eyes fell upon you... _Kalach-Cha_." the woman said quietly. I felt myself go cold. She named me with the title the githyanki used while chasing me. I never managed to discover the meaning of it.

I saw Nevalle stiffen and purse his lips: I wasn't sure what was going on, but I suddenly had a feeling I wasn't going to like this.

"Step forward, let me look upon you." she continued. Her skin had a similar but deeper green tint to it than the githyankis', richer somehow, but I couldn't discern any of her facial features apart form her high brow and slanted yellow-green eyes, as her face was veiled under some shimmering, silk-like material.

I found myself responding, almost unselfcounsciously. Her voice carried quiet authority and self-assurance, and I realized with a shiver that the last time I heard someone speak with the same tone it was Aevan, my teacher. I caught myself wanting to smooth my hair and check my cuffs for spots as well, exactly like I always felt with Aevan.

"They say you asked for me by name." I finally spoke, and I was proud of myself that I didn't sound like a gibbering idiot. Too much, that is...what kind of answer was that, after all?

"Your name...your name is not how I _know_ you." She placed an odd emphasis on the word 'know' as if it had more meaning that in the conventional sense. Her accent was noticeable but not jarring; soft vowels, rounded consonants, slight emphasis on the first syllable of each word. "_Know_ this name our enemies have draped upon you - this _Kalach_-_Cha_-, its sound travels far, even reaching the ears of _my_ people." She stressed that 'my', and I couldn't help but pick up on it as she went on. "At first, my people thought our enemies had erred, that they did not _know_ that of which they speak." She lifted her hand. "But here, now, as you stand in my presence, I see the truth. I did not think it possible - but the key by which you may _know_ yourself lies within you."

"Um... I think you are saying I am important somehow for your...people?" I said cautiously. "Are you of the githzerai, like Aldanon here said?" She nodded. "What do you...wish of me, then?" I cleared my throat. "Forgive me, but we don't even know your name."

She glanced towards Nevalle and Brelaina before answering, and I had a feeling she was picking her words very carefully.

"I know much of the problems that beset your people and mine - the reason behind these attacks upon your heart and home. You will have no greater ally in this than I." The conviction was strong in her voice. "I am Zhjaeve. In exchange for my aid, it is my will I be freed - so that I might travel with you and aid you against these enemies."

"So in exchange for what you know, you only ask to travel with me?" I shook my head. "  
Is that really all?"

"This cell is abhorrent to me." She lifted her head proudly. "It is a shackle of stone encasing me... it causes memories of the ways of the illithids to surface in my mind. I have born this indignity because I knew that it would bring you to me - and a greater truth will be _known_."

Her cat-like, slanted eyes bore into mine with ferocious intensity from under the oddly shaped headdress she wore, made of a dully gleaming metal. As I returned her gaze, I unintentionally brushed the edge of her consciousness with my Sight… and I felt an almost physical shock as I bounced back on my heels. Even that casual and unintended brush showed me just how alien her mind was, and how strongly it was shielded. If I thought Sydney Natale's mental fortress was remarkably well built to withstand any probing, it was nothing but a small fishermen's hut compared to this woman's defenses.

Such shields only could compare to the ones the best of holy men and women were able to construct: Aevan taught me the rudimentary basics of how to distinguish between, for lack of a better word, flavors of different mental signatures. Although the mind was alien, the type of shielding was familiar.

The woman was a cleric, sworn to some alien deity only she knew.

"Arrighan, listen to me." Nevalle cut in, face serious. "You are to be commanded—both for your efforts, and the lives spared when capturing Crossroad Keep. Had you not been there, we would have many less of our brave men standing with us today..." We managed not to lose any of the Many-Starred Cloaks to Garius' forces, even though Nathe and Sevann sustained serious injuries from the mage's acolytes. "...along with what may be the key to taking this battle to our enemies." he added, looking at the prisoner.

Zhjaeve nodded solemnly.

"In freeing me, know you have gained more than you ever would have torn from the lips and thoughts of our enemies."

"Then speak. " Nevalle said impatiently. "Aldanon does not think you are allied with these enemies... these githyanki." His eyes narrowed, and I was reminded again that this man was the Captain of the Nine. "And his word carries weight with me - fortunately for you."

Zhjaeve stood up in one graceful motion. I couldn't determine her age, but her movements were quick and betrayed a certain lethal readiness that made me almost instinctively slip into battle stance, even though I wasn't wearing armor. She noticed it, and nodded, almost imperceptively, but it was to Nevalle that she spoke to.

"Then _know_ the trade between us is this..." I almost felt the tension building in the cell, as if suddenly everyone realized the power behind those words. This woman _chose_ to be in this position. I shuddered at the realization: _By Tyr, she could have gotten out at any time on her own once she was out of Garius' cell_!

"By the seven archons, _who_ is she?" I murmured under my breath, but luckily enough, no one chose to hear me.

"Release me from this prison, let my path become that of the _Kalach-Cha_." she continued calmly, as if her power hasn't knocked us almost literally off our feet. "In return, I will grant you the _knowing_ of this threat - and all the darkness its shadow casts."

You had to give Nevalle credit; he met her eyes without flinching. Only a small muscle in the corner of his jaw betrayed his tension. He was a seasoned warrior, he recognized threat when he saw it, however different it was from the power of a sword.

"We promise an honest hearing, and if your tale rings true, we will grant your freedom."

"Then listen to me, and know this threat for what it is." Zhjaeve said, and looked around. A frown appeared on her forehead and she shook her head. "I seek to know this plane, this world that I am to help you save - and speak honestly to it, so that it might hear what strikes at its heart. And that means that I must see your lands, what you would spill blood for... and what you have spilled blood for. But we cannot do it here, in this prison, where my words echo... and the shadows fall thick around us."

"She's right." I spoke suddenly, understanding what she meant. "What she has to say is probably best said in broad daylight, Sir Nevalle."

"If you say so, Squire." He transferred his steely gaze to me. "Then I know of just the place." He turned on his heels and started up the stairs of the cell. "Follow me, the two of you. Captain Brelaina, Master Aldanon, thank you for your time."

I saw the surprise in Brelaina's eyes hearing that clear dismissal, but she was too much of a career politician to take umbrage.

"Sir Nevalle." she said curtly, but politely enough, dipping her head and stepping up next to Aldanon. "I will just make sure Master Aldanon here gets home safely and that everything is in order at his house." She smiled at me briefly. "It was good to see you, Squire; hope to see you at Sir Grayson's Yule breakfast tomorrow?"

"I'll be delighted." I uttered politely. What I really wanted to say was '_Are you nuts? We just got back from a mission that was more dangerous than any of the ones I encountered before, up to and including the demons at Lord Tavorick's estate, encountered shadow priests, ancient golems, black magic of several Luskan mages, one of them intent on sucking out the power from an unknown dark entity named The King of Shadows while using its minions towards his ends…No, I think I'll go back to the Sunken Flagon and start drinking early so I can forget those smoldering corpses, consumed by their own magefire as their concentration to maintain some forbidden ritual faltered due to us charging into their ritual chamber fully armed and ready to kill… And especially I would like to forget what we found in one of the side chambers after the dust settled and we combed the half-ruined keep for potential captives or hostiles…'_

But of course I didn't say that. I might have, just a month back or two. But lately I found myself changing and becoming someone else with such a frightening pace sometimes it took my breath away with its sheer inevitability.

As we exited the Watch headquarters, Nevalle gathered his escort of two Palace guards in their black-gold armor, and set out on the wide streets of the merchant quarter towards the Winged Wyvern Bridge, the two guards flanking Zhjaeve almost instantly and without hesitation. She took this without a comment, drawing the simple grey cloak she wore over her coarse linen robe that seemed rather light for our chilly weather closer to her body.

"We'll have to find her some warmer clothes, Nevalle." I said, stepping up next to the captain of the Nine. "I can't believe we freed her from that cell just to be dropped into another one in barely a shift…"

"Yes, yes, we'll take care of it." Nevalle's mouth was drawn tight, as if to say 'and you have nothing better to think about, paladin?' "But this seemed urgent for her… and I suspect she's of the sort who cares little of the comforts of the body."

"Know that this is true." came the quiet voice of the githzerai from behind us. "What I have now and had in my captivity by Garius is sufficient for the moment. We zerth are trained to endure."

"Zerth?" I asked, curiously. "Is that a title or a profession?"

"Now is not the time, Kalach-Cha." she said, almost chidingly. "Perhaps later, when you and I had a chance to better know each other. There are secrets of my people one must not divulge where there are too many ears to hear."

Nevalle led us on, and I finally realized where we were heading as we crossed the bridge and started to climb the rock atop which Castle Never sat by the river.

"The castle?" I asked him quietly and he nodded.

"I am under orders to bring you back here, Squire Arrighan Pendwyr." he said as we passed the gates, my full name sounding oddly formal on his lips. "The Lord Nasher has a new task for you. And, "he glanced at Zhjaeve who was looking completely at ease as we walked through the entryway and into the courtyard of the red marble fountain, "perhaps our guest can see what it is you'll be fighting for in the coming days."

I tried not to sigh loud. A new task, sure. If I was lucky, maybe I had time to wrap all those presents I got for Yule for my companions and maybe attend the dinner Duncan was planning on having for us at the Flagon. If my day was shaping up the way this entire Crossroad Keep mission had, I'll probably have to leave straight from Castle Never to do something equally insane.

A lot of my sarcasm, rather unbecoming for a paladin, had to do with the unending stream of evil I had to face since Tavorick's Ball. The strain of battling demons, devils, hellhounds, Luskan soldiers, Shadow priests and their minions, and Black Garius himself along with his acolytes started to show—and knowing that if I felt this way, my companions must have had it worse, probably didn't help at all. During the months since I left West Harbor, they slowly became my family, I had to realize right around the time I was accused of the Ember massacre—the only family I've ever had. Even Bishop, however much it bothered me that I couldn't get a hold of the reasons he still was with us. But I suppose every family had its black sheep—ours just had been a smarmy ranger with a mangy wolf as a companion. The fact that they all still followed me into whatever mission Neverwinter entrusted me with was a mystery. Paladins normally worked alone or with their own brothers and sisters: I was grateful beyond words for every day they spent with me. After that awful night when the githyanki and the bladelings attacked West Harbor, Amie died and my foster-father made me realize I had to leave the village, I lost the fragile strands connecting me to normal human life, and it felt like Faerun was yanked out from underneath me. Slowly, very slowly, Khelgar, Neeshka and Elanee started to fill in the void in me, started with Aevan's disappearance. Then others came, one by one… and I knew that whatever happened in the future and however strong my bonds with Casavir had grown, my traveling companions will always be there in my heart, allowing me to draw strength from the mere knowledge that they _were_.

With that thought lending me renewed strength, I squared my shoulders and followed Nevalle up the stairs, turning towards a corridor I recognized as the one leading to Lord Nasher's private quarters. _This was going to be one of those conversations, then_, I thought wryly, surprised a bit that the Captain of the Nine trusted the githzerai enough to allow her into his lord's private chambers.

Then I remembered Clemins and relaxed. Now _that_ would be a formidable match of wills indeed.

Sure enough, the old man was there at the door to Nasher's study, dressed all in black, with that white neck scarf and the pin in it standing out in stark contrast.

"M'lord Nevalle, m'lady Pendwyr…" he said and bowed from the waist, keeping his eyes on the githzerai cleric behind us. "The Lord Nasher will be with you momentarily; he has asked me to escort you to the lesser receiving room."

"Certainly, Clemins." Nevalle said with a tight-lipped nod. "This is Zhjaeve of the githzerai, with some important information pertinent to recent events." The fact alone that he introduced the woman to Clemins spoke volumes about how much more than a simple butler the old man was.

The githzerai loosened her cloak; a stray strand of chestnut-colored hair fell onto her forehead from underneath her headdress as she gracefully dipped her head, but otherwise she remained silent.

"Of course, m'lord." Clemins's face didn't show any emotions but his wary stance relaxed a bit. "If you'd follow me, please."

The lesser receiving room fell in opulence in between the casual grandeur of Nasher's private sitting room and his receiving hall where I first met him. It had a large oval table with plenty of chairs and some thick rugs in front of the grey marble fireplace with its crackling logs. Someone had put up Yule decorations on the mantelpiece, too: pine and holly boughs, walnuts painted gold, red apples and some mistletoe. I was well acquainted with the place: we used it during our planning sessions for Tavorick's ball and before the Crossroad Keep mission as well.

"I shall bring some refreshments momentarily." Clemins said crisply as he closed the door behind us and bowed again. "His Highness should be here shortly." He departed through a side door after an almost imperceptible but thorough glance at Zhjaeve.

"Nevalle." I said tightly, turning about and facing him square on. "What is this about?"

"What do you mean, Squire?" His mouth was set into a thin and determined line in his full aristocrat mode I always hated. And, like always, it got my hackles up again.

"Just would like to be prepared." Even to myself, I sounded acerbic enough that Sand probably would have been proud of me. "As you said, you were under orders to bring me here for some new task; but why Zhjaeve?" I pronounced her name carefully.

"You seem to be trusting her." he said simply.

"I…" I started to say, and I caught myself staring at him, openmouthed. "Wait: are you saying you trust my judgment concerning her?"

"You are a paladin of the Just God and Lord Nasher places a great deal of trust in you." He delivered that with that now-familiar set of his chin that told me that Nevalle of the Nine came a long way to be able to say that.

"But you don't." I stated flatly; I really didn't have to be particularly skilled in Truthsaying to be able to read his body language. _What the hells_, I thought, finding the courage all of a sudden, _he is used to me being uncouth and outspoken anyway, so I might as well…_ "You still harbor some resentment towards me for whatever reason, Nevalle." I took a deep breath, deciding that it's best to have this out in the open right now and not let it fester any more. "Whether it is because I am an upstart country bumpkin, whether it's because you think Lord Nasher wastes his time with me, or because you object to what Casavir…"

"It doesn't matter what I think." His voice was cool and even, but a sudden coloring of his cheeks belied his words. One of my statements was correct, and I couldn't help but feel a surge of satisfaction that my abilities as servant of Tyr would help me now to finally settle this matter, however awkward the timing might have been. I glanced at the githzerai, but she seemed to be indifferent, oblivious, or extremely tactful, studying the vista of the city from one of the windows, wandering a good ways away from us in the sizable room. "I am a faithful son of Neverwinter, and Captain of Lord Nasher's Nine. As long as you serve the city and its lord, we are allies, personal…feelings aside." His eyes narrowed. "I know you're a true servant of our god Tyr, and you proved that he's by your side in the arena against Lorne, but that shouldn't be…" He took a sharp breath and shook his head, his face closing on itself again like a tome of undecipherable language. "Lord Nasher might think you're ready, but I don't think so."

"Oh, for crying out loud, Nevalle." I threw up my hands, feeling exasperated. _Ready? For what?_ "This doesn't make any sense. I thought that after our little talk at Tavorick's you at least realized that I didn't harbor any ambitions to rise in court and threaten your position." There: frank speech at last. I shot that out almost blindly but I trusted my instincts and training: the same that made me to add. "By manipulating events, being overly heroic, or climbing into anyone's bed."

His cheeks were decidedly red now. I think I touched a nerve there, I thought, still not quite comprehending…

Then I almost felt physically sick upon seeing the expression on his face.

"I just… don't want him to be hurt again." he said in a strange, strangled voice. "He already suffered too much for a lifetime. No one should lose a family like that…" He turned away quickly, but it was too late. With my Sight the god entrusted upon me, I finally _Saw_ what was in his eyes more clearly than if he'd said it out loud. I saw, and my heart gave a sudden, sharp lurch at the depth of his pain, and the lengths he went to hide how he felt, even from himself.

I did find his secret, because I felt the same way, _and towards the same man_.

Tyr's gifts cut two ways, indeed. I felt my own face bursting into flames at my intrusion on his innermost thoughts, laced with the lavender of longing and dull gray of hopelessness.

"Gods…" I whispered, my hand reaching out instinctively. "Gods, I am sorry, Nevalle, I didn't know…"

"Don't." His shoulder stiffened under my fingers. "Please. I am…" His breathing was heavy. "Give me the dignity of being able to face my days without thinking it is written on my forehead." As he turned to look at me again, his gray-blue eyes were almost pleading. "You can See with True Sight, it is whispered… but he never knew, and nor should he."

I nodded, mutely, feeling nauseous as if standing at the edge of a precipice. His soul just had been laid bare in front of me. What I saw there was shocking enough, even though thinking back to all our encounters I sure should have seen the signs if only I'd been anyone else but an inexperienced village girl done good in the big city…

_Nevalle_?

In the next moment, predictably enough, I had to quell the inevitable hysterical giggles threatening to bubble up.

_I'd never thought I'd had to consider the Captain of the Nine as a romantic rival_…

_Gods, Arrighan, get a grip_! My celestial side chided. _The man is hurting, probably hurt since he first realized how he felt and that the feelings can never be mutual. Do as he said and honor his dignity, if nothing else. You owe it to him._

"Very well." My voice was strong, because I wanted it so. "On my honor. He'll never know."

The relief in Nevalle's eyes was almost palpable.

"Thank you." He whispered; the warrior-aristocrat mask disappearing almost completely. "You must understand, I had thought at first that you were merely after his…" A deep breath, almost composed, as he decided not to finish that thought, and I was grateful for it. He realized, probably that calling me what back in West Harbor was called a 'gold-digger' would have been just a tad too much. "It was completely irrational, of course, almost as mad a thought to entertain as to believe you had anything to do with the Ember massacre." He shrugged. "But…"

"But we do go a bit mad for those we love." I nodded, with a small smile. "No need to explain, Nevalle, I...."

"Carson." he said, staring at the parquet floor.

"Pardon?" I asked politely.

"My name. Nevalle is our family name." His mouth quirked and he made a little bow. "I think it's time I start to trust you."

"Carson??" _No way you'll laugh right now, Arrighan, simply no way_, my celestial side intervened again, firmly squelching the squeaking of my human side.

_Carson Nevalle_. It had a hard ring to it… but then again, for all intents and purposes, he was a hard man. Even if…

_Especially if_, I told myself firmly, and closed that line of thought with an almost audible click in my mind.

"Right." I said, trying to sound snappy and with it. "I am honored…but you'll have to stop calling me Squire Pendwyr, too. It's only fair."

"Probably…. Arrighan." He stumbled across my name a bit; I really hoped this was the beginning of something, and not an end. He took a deep breath. "Would you…care for some coffee?" He indicated a side table where I noticed a complete breakfast service setup with all its accoutrements in gleaming silver and bone-white Shouware.

"Sure." I smiled gratefully and a bit relieved at the decision to change the subject and return to safer waters. I could heartily agree with that. Plus, I realized that I was ravenously hungry and that indeed, this was another of those opportunities to eat something else than Duncan's burnt bacon sandwiches. Which, by the way, I loved to death, just not necessarily all the time. I had the Daeghun version of those for way too long while living in West Harbor.

We busied ourselves in silence for a while, and I held out my cup while Nevalle—_Carson_, I reminded myself hastily, poured coffee and then cream from a little silver pitcher.

"Thank you." I nodded, then glanced towards where the githzerai stood, unmoving, taking in the sights of the city. "Something for you, Zhjaeve?" I asked, my voice raised.

She turned so suddenly it was almost invisible; with one smooth, gliding motion she was next to the table. Hells, she was something else. I tensed for a second, then willed my muscles to relax—she was not the enemy.

Not yet, anyway. I watched as her gaze swept through the table, and realized with some embarrassment that I had no idea if anything here was to her liking.

"Uh…you probably just want water, right?" I asked, rather awkwardly but she shook her head.

"Thank you, Kalach-Cha, but I take coffee. It is very similar to some of the stimulant drinks we use to increase alertness." She paused. "Before you ask: this is not the first time I cross the planes to this world."

"Planewalker." Nevalle breathed into the momentary silence that ensued. "I've heard about people such as you." His eyes narrowed and the cool and competent Captain of the Nine was back." And you got captured by Garius at Crossroad Keep?"

Zhjaeve placed a cup on its saucer with ease; I looked on, envious of her poise and calm, as she poured from the gleaming silver carafe.

"I was." She said slowly; she slipped the cup under her veil with practiced ease as she turned to face Nevalle. "Know that the path that led to me being chained is a twisted one."

I am sure that there was more she wanted to say, but at this moment the doors opened and Lord Nasher walked in, with a number of people trailing in his wake.

"Squire." The Lord of Neverwinter nodded curtly, and I hastily put my cup down and bowed. Nasher's gaze slid over Zhjaeve. "And our githzerai guest." He gestured towards a harried-looking palace secretary who handed him a parchment with a large and official-looking seal dangling from it. "Good. We can do this, then." He extended the rolled-up document to Nevalle. "If you wouldn't mind?"

"Of course, my lord." Nevalle took the parchment and turned to me, unrolling it as Nasher and his entourage looked on expectantly. "Squire Arrighan Pendwyr, the Lord Nasher Alagondar, Protector of Neverwinter decrees such..." The unrolled parchment bore a long and official-looking script: he started to read it out loud, face schooled to official impassivity. "Let it be know to all that in this, the twenty-fourth year of our reign we found it fitting that the stronghold known as Crossroad Keep, long in disuse, be rebuilt and made strong for war. For this purpose, to oversee and command, to gather troops and be prepared, to be the master of this Keep in Neverwinter's service, we hereby appoint and name the Squire Arrighan Pendwyr of West Harbor, servant of Tyr."

"What?" I exclaimed, utterly disregarding the fact that I did so in front of the ruler of the City and his entourage. "NO way!"

Nevalle glanced up, frowning, the parchment slowly rolling up in his hands. Yes, that was a major no-no I just did, and I felt ashamed for a split second before disbelief flooded me again, freezing me to my place.

"There are more details in here, but those can wait." Nevalle gestured towards some of the waiting people, while I stood there, dumbfound, thunderstruck, unable to form any thoughts after hearing that official donation thrust upon me so unexpectedly. "These people you see here, and many more, are now yours to command as you see fit. You are their Captain in Neverwinter's service." His tone clearly attempted to communicate that I better shape up and appreciate this. "You have earned this through service and blood, and you have earned my trust... and that of Lord Nasher."

There was a pause, and for once I recognized a cue when I was given one.

"My lord..." I turned towards Nasher and inclined my head, albeit a bit stiffly. "I am...not sure what to say." My insides were shaking. Those lands belonged to someone else, and we both knew it.

"The Crown entrusts Crossroad Keep to your safekeeping, Squire." Nasher said in a neutral tone. He knew I understood the gesture. "For now, it is your land. Defend it, for the sake of your people, and the sake of Neverwinter." He waved and hand around. "Later you'll be introduced to most of these people; they'll form your household at the Keep. You have our permission to take as many of your present companions with you as well as you wish: the Crown shall pay for their retainer together with the rest of the expenditures for the first year, as customary." He spoke as if this was something that happened every day here... and I was sure that for him there was nothing out of the ordinary in thrusting something like this to a squire or knight who performed their duties and was promised suitable gifts. But for this washed-up West Harbor hick hedge-paladin... for me, it definitely felt like a blow with a sledgehammer.

"But for now..." Nasher continued, "I think we have some confidential matters to discuss." At some subtle sign of his that I was unable to detect, the room emptied with considerable speed, the harried-looking secretary herding everybody out, leaving only Nasher, Nevalle, Zhjaeve and myself in the room.

And one more person, actually. Clemins closed the doors with an audible click.

"Would you be requiring anything else, milord?" he asked Nasher and when he shook his head, the old man silently departed as well through a side entrance, entrusting his lord to Nevalle's care. Somehow I was sure he remained just on the other side of that door, hovering just out of reach but within earshot. I caught him glancing at Zhjaeve again, and the githzerai's returned that look with one that I could only interpret as bemused.

"Not that I am not grateful, Sire…." I started almost as soon as Clemins closed that side door, facing Nasher with squaring my jaw as if before battle. "But we both know that rightfully Crossroad Keep should be returned to Casavir Korranos."

"Crossroad Keep is the property of the Crown, Chosen." Nasher said calmly, his green eyes glinting with quiet amusement. Now that it was only us, he called me by the title only a very few knew about. He took a chair right next to the oval table in the middle of the room and gestured for all of us to sit as well. "I decide what its fate should be for the future, and right now I am keeping it as Crown property, with you as its Captain. I am assuming young Korranos shall accompany you there as soon as travel's possible." He leaned back, steepling his fingers under his chin; now I could see a definite quirk of a smile lurking in the corners of his mouth as well. I gritted my teeth. "Should you decide to appoint him as your second-in-command, I have no objections. The internal matters of the Keep will be entirely at your discretion."

"I…" I sputtered, almost speechless again. "Sire, I have absolutely no experience in how to run anything, let alone a Keep! I am good at smiting evil and looking passable in plate armor, but…"

"No one doubts that, Chosen." Yes, by all the gods, he was toying with me, and enjoying it. I recalled my cat back in West Harbor having the same glint in his eyes tossing a poor mouse or sparrow up in the air and watching it squirm as he batted it down again. "However, I need someone I can absolutely trust taking over the defenses there. The keep was neglected for far too long, but given our present situation, it is time to use its formidable defensive capabilities again." I swear he winked at me. "And yours, of course."

_Fine. Two can play this game. If I am to be the Chosen of Tyr, he expects me to be nothing but frank, open and devastatingly truthful in everything._

_Including saying things no one else would, but probably everyone is thinking._

"I'd say you flatter me, Sire." I kept my gaze level as I lowered myself to a chair opposite him. "But something tells me that you aim to kill two birds with the same stone in this case."

"Really?" An eyebrow quirked, reminding me so much of his nephew that my heart thudded with a dull ache in my chest. I already missed him, sweet Sune help me. "Enlighten me, please."

"Well." I cleared my throat, suddenly aware of the fact that I was about to go absolutely frank with the ruler of the City and the person who pretty much…

_Oh crap, did Casavir ever tell him that he and I…?_

"I mean…" I started out hastily, before I followed that train of thought into distraction, "you not only gain someone who'll run the Keep for you and possibly fix that vulnerable border of yours towards the threat the King of Shadows might represent…" I nodded towards Zhjaeve, "…and about which, no doubt, we'll hear in more detail in a moment… but for sure you will be able to tell those in your court and the Council who clamor about the upstart paladin making too fast of an advance that you conveniently took care of that problem, giving her an assignment that tests her abilities and places her far away from court at the same time. They will, no doubt, marvel at your statecraft and take this as a clear sign that you, despite the whispers and rumors lately, still hold the reins of the realm firmly." I made a face. "I understand the necessities of state, Sire. It doesn't, however, mean I have to like what you had just given me to do. I made an oath to serve Neverwinter, and I'd never dream about breaking it. But no one ever told me I am not supposed to give an opinion, and neither is it forbidden in the codes of my order, as far as I can tell."

"I did ask for this, didn't I?" Nasher was silent for a long while before speaking again, thoughtful.

"Indeed, Sire." We had this conversation before, before my trial by combat. I nodded. Nevalle was squirming a bit, clearly uncomfortable at our exchange. "I think we are both better for knowing that I am going into this fully aware and not harboring any rosy-eyed illusions about what a great honor was bestowed upon me." I held his gaze and didn't waver upon seeing the thunderstorms brewing in it. "While it is, indeed an honor to serve you, Sire, just like I said before, I am clearly unprepared for this. If you wish me to succeed, I will need all the help and assistance I can get from the Crown. Otherwise I must respectfully decline the offer." I spread my hands. "And since that would clearly indicate that your previous trust in me was misplaced, you and I both would need to make some hard choices about what to do next."

"Was that… bargaining?" His eyes narrowed. "Or blackmail?"

"From a Tyrran paladin, Sire?" I tilted my head sideways and smiled. "Surely you understand that I am merely stating the facts?"

There was a moment of silence, then Nasher threw up his hands with a wry chuckle.

"I really should have known better." he exclaimed, green eyes sparkling: he looked twenty years younger all of a sudden. "You'll do just fine, Chosen, whether at court or amongst soldiers on the border. Yes, fine indeed." He looked at Nevalle. "You still think she's not ready?"

"Forgive me, Sire, but I do." The Captain of the Nine pursed his lips in thought. "Running a Keep is more than just giving rousing speeches, waving a sword around and donning plate mail. It is…"

"Hey." I said defensively. "I know that."

"…something that is taught to those who are chosen by birthright for years. To learn that, even for one of Tyr's…"

"Oh, for the love of the Even-Handed, just find someone to teach her, Carson!" Nasher exclaimed. "She'll have at least three months before the roads are suitable to travel and start construction at the Keep anyway. The troops will require training, the stonemasons crews, the castellan provisions… it all takes time. While that is happening, just have her sit with someone who can be patient and merciless enough to get these things into her head without too much bloodletting. 'Tis simple enough, and I will have no more time wasted over it." He waved his hand impatiently. "Now: can we get on with some more important matters?" He turned to Zhjaeve: I was still digesting all the implications of what he was saying. "I would like to hear from our guest the reasons she's here and as much as possible about this threat we are facing."

The githzerai blinked; I could only guess the pace with which Nasher was moving, the pace of a ruler, was too fast even for her.

"As you wish." She said finally, weighing every word. She spoke with a tone that made it clear she was treating Nasher with respect, but clearly not as superior. "Know that the path that led to me being chained is a twisted one, and the citadel that is now yours, Crossroad Keep, was not my destination. I journeyed to your plane to see the actions of the githyanki with my own eyes. This plane... this _Faerûn_... is often in their thoughts and in their speech."

"You were spying on the githyanki, then?" Nevalle asked.

"I observed them." Zhjaeve corrected with a slight frown marring her smooth forehead, as if the distinction should have been obvious. "The githyanki are hunters, and they rarely release their prey. Yet it was the _name_ of the prey they sought that first brought the matter to my People. It was said the githyanki hunted the _kalach-cha_. Such a hunt must be confirmed with the eyes and cannot simply be trusted to words traded from one to another. My feet shadowed the path of the githyanki, but we were both prey of another. In my shame, I did not see Shadow until it was too late. They took me, perhaps not recognizing the differences between our People, and chained me within Crossroad Keep."

"Before we go any further." I interrupted, "…I would finally like to know what _Kalach-cha_ means? The githyanki kept calling me that but I was never able to figure out the meaning of it. You say it's a title?"

"Yes." Zhjaeve nodded. "It means 'Shard-Bearer'. You wear that title because the name _knows_ you, even if you do not _know_ it yourself." She paused, looking for a second at Nevalle and Nasher in turn, and then spoke again as if she decided on something momentous. "But let me speak my thought plainly, without circles of meaning. They call you the Shard-Bearer, this _Kalach-Cha_, because you carry a piece of Gith's blade within you, near the heart. And you have always born it close to you."

I felt my mouth to go dry, and my right hand rose unselfconsciously to touch the scar underneath my shirt and doublet on my chest.

"Gith's blade?" I asked, hesitantly. "Are you saying that these silver shards…. belonged to some sacred object?" I knew about them having the shards of a silver sword and that they were dear for the githyanki for some reason, but…

"The most sacred one to the githyanki, yes." I saw the rapt attention on Nevalle's and Nasher's faces as Zhjaeve emitted a sad little laugh. "It was once said that Gith's blade, once drawn, would never find a scabbard again - and now it is sheathed within you." One of her green-skinned hands shot out with almost imperceptible quickness to trace a line down from the middle of my chest. Her voice was almost reverent. "It sings, and they can hear it, as I hear it, whispering all the hate of Gith and the war she sought to bring to the planes... a war that would have ended us all, if Zerthimon had not met her blade with his at the Pronouncement of Two Skies." Her alien eyes bore into mine and I froze. Who was this woman, with such power in her words and in her eyes? "_Know_ that you are the only one who can reforge Gith's blade and use it, once more, in a battle. A battle that will free your lands and people from an evil even greater than the evil the illithid sought to bring upon my people." Her tone rang with finality. "There is no other. And if the title of _Kalach-Cha_ displeases you, then _know_ that _you_ must make another title." She paused. "And perhaps your name shall be the battlecry by which this ancient enemy, this King of Shadows will be defeated."

She stood, with liquid grace, and while the three of us were still recovering from the weight of her words, she gestured towards the windows, towards the City, slowly bathed in the lights of the faint winter sun.

"Look, even now shadows fall upon this plane - yet still its beauty persists. It is not surprising to me that our enemies wish to mar this place with their blades and their war." She looked at Nasher now, addressing her words to the ruler of the City. "_Know_ this - the first glimpses of this conflict you have seen are not the first. They are but glimpses of things that travel well into the past and the present. It is all part of a greater war, a war almost as great as the one that split my people on the sword of Gith long ago, and the tragedy is tied to such a blade."

"The King of Shadows…he brought war elsewhere, too?" Nasher asked quietly.

Zhjaeve nodded.

"These shadows you see... he is a Lord who dwells in darkness with them. And he has fought on this Plane before against those who have embraced Gith's hatred - the githyanki." She shook her head. "This Lord and the githyanki - it is difficult to _know_ the true hatred between them. He attacked them long ago, attempted to cast his shadows upon their fortresses in the planes beyond." Her cool, almost dispassionate words painted vivid images I could almost see behind my eyelids, perhaps precisely because she was deliberately choosing such a cold tone. "The fighting was terrible, fierce, and it was only through the deaths of thousands of githyanki that this King of Shadows was driven back. But no matter how many countless thousands of their people they lost, they were only capable of severing the portal through which he could attack them...And so the githyanki were denied a victory, and forestalled their war for a time." Her eyes sought mine again. "But _know_ that the githyanki do not forget their enemies. And though the King of Shadows had been driven back, still they sought a way to reach him... to kill him. And as terrible as knowing the followers of Gith hunt for you, even more dangerous is this Lord, this King of Shadows."

She paused, as if waiting for something. The air was suddenly full of tension, as if she was waiting for me to do something, or say something equally significant to her pronouncements…

But what could I say? I felt my heart in my throat.

This was too much. I only wanted to protect my village, find the villains who attacked it and killed my best friend, and find out what happened to my teacher…

_Sidetracked from your original goals is a mild way to put it, Rig_…my human side snickered.

I swallowed loud so the lump in my throat would go away, and answered her the only way I could.

"What must I do?"

I was a servant of the Even-Handed, dedicated to light and justice. I was compelled to act, to set things right, to show an example, even if I'd have much rather go back to wrestling horses for Georg right now.

Zhjaeve nodded as if I'd given the right answer. I saw Nasher close his eyes for a second, relief suffusing his features, and Nevalle squared his shoulders as if some invisible weight just has settled on them.

"Very well." the githzerai said, leaning towards me. "Listen to my words and _know_ them. The King of Shadows was not always tied to darkness, and that is part of the tragedy. His will was once devoted to an ancient empire, to the protection of its people. He was once the light of Illefarn, empowered with the strength to protect them from their enemies... and he was bound to the natural magics of the plane, the Weave."

_I've learned more about what brought my path to this point in the past couple of minutes than in all the time since I've left my village, _ran through my head. _The King of Shadows is of Illefarn origin, I have an artifact in me that once belonged to another plane of existence and played an important part in some conflicts one could only describe as epic and legendary… what comes next? That I have to save the world?_

"But as much as a ritual created the Guardian that was to be Shadow, there is a ritual that will unmake him." Zhjaeve continued, her words gently rising and falling with her alien accent. "It is a Ritual of Purification, designed to allow him peace when his days of sacrifice are done and the empire needs him no longer. If the ritual does exist, it lies within the ruined Illefarn city of Arvahn. It is there you must go to purify yourself and gain the strength for the battle ahead. And soon." A slight warning tone entered her voice. "_Know_ that this path is a dangerous one. Even the people of Illefarn, as powerful as they were, were unable to defeat the King of Shadows. But also _know_ that this Ritual of Purification... and the blade of our enemies are the only chance of success in this."

"And you." I said, and she paused, looking at me with slightly narrowed eyes. I felt the marks around my eyes heating up suddenly, and an invisible wind stirred the loose strands of my hair. I felt the Sight entering me, the power of the god, always descending suddenly and uninvited. My voice deepened, full of the echoes of another world. "You are also dangerous, Zhjaeve of the Githzerai: dangerous and powerful. Who are you to ask me of this and to give nothing in return?"

"You doubt me, and that is because you do not know me." She remained calm; only her hands, clutched in front of her tightly together, betrayed some emotions. "You need allies, _Kalach-Cha_, not more enemies and doubt to divide you. For in dividing the mind, you divide the battlefield and you cut your strength in half."

"**You ask me to trust you**." I stood up, filled with Tyr's power. It spilled, poured over me like a river of silver and crimson, sparkles dancing at my fingertips as I stretched out my arm, touching Zhjaeve above the heart, and I knew I was no longer just myself in my body. _He_ was with me, his Chosen, speaking through me again, to this strange planar being.

"**Do I have your oath, then, your pronouncement, as your people call it? Do you give me that, like I give to this cause, setting Light against Darkness, Queen of Light against King of Shadows?"**

"I am a _zerth_. " Zhjaeve's quiet words filled the silence stretching between us, like starshine fills the void between worlds. Her eyes were wide, with echoes of green fires dancing in them and she didn't waver. "I swear upon the Circle of Zerthimon that what I speak to you I _know_ to be true." Her next sentence was almost said in a whisper, almost tender, and I knew that she spoke to me, Arrighan, the person. "And _know_ that your life is as precious to me as it is for the followers of Gith to end it." She took a deep breath and her power rose, the green fires reaching from her eyes. "I make this pronouncement to you, greater than the bond of Two Deaths As One, with a strength that echoes the Pronouncement of Two Skies. I make the Pronouncement of Three in Darkness, Two in Light. As the two of us shall meet this King in his fortress, it shall become a battle of three. And when it is over, the two of us shall walk in the light, and you will taste true freedom - just as Gith and Zerthimon did when they broke the will of the _illithid_ at Sagrassa's End. "

She reached out, clasped my hand… and I gasped as our joint powers flared up, like two wildfires meeting on a dry meadow, silver, crimson and green flames roaring up around us.

It was almost too much: my knees buckled as the god's might and Zhjaeve's oath-binding words created something that was of this world, of hers and of the celestial at once. As my sight faltered and I felt myself falling slowly towards the flames, I could hear Zhjaeve's last words echoing in my mind before the three-colored fire consumed my thoughts.

"It is my life I am giving you, _Kalach-Cha_, and I ask that you let me share your path with you."


	52. Beautiful As Day

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**About the 'M' rating again, since some might wonder: aside from the swearing (frequent), in this chapter things are heating up a bit…but all through the story, I felt the mature themes of violence (occasionally graphic) and portraying a reasonably adult relationship alongside with its inevitable sensual and sexual undertones warranted the rating for more experienced audiences, even though there's much less skin in this story than in a lot of others on this site.**

**I write to music; what would I do without my trusty iPod, indeed? Here are the songs I used to delve deeper into the themes of this chapter for those interested: for the heating-up part, the return of **_**Queen of the Sun**_**, as the theme of Rig's inadvertent spell, by Angels of Venice; for Eaydra's story the inspiration came listening to Sting's **_**The Hounds of Winter**_** from **_**Mercury Falling**_**; and finally, a lighter hearted piece, **_**First Snow**_**, from the Trans-Siberian Orchestra's **_**Christmas Eve and Other Tales**_** was especially useful for Duncan's feast. For Shandra's song, see the notes to Chapter 49.**

**I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… I take full responsibility for that Pendwyr girl, though... **

**Chapter Fifty-Two: As Beautiful As Day**

"Shandra, Zhjaeve, Zhjaeve, Shandra." I performed the introductions without even slowing down as I marched into the Flagon's common room, the githzerai in tow. "Yes, I know it's late and I was away all day, but right now, Shan, right now all I want is a hot meal and my bed." I looked across the room towards my uncle serving drinks. "And your old room for Zhjaeve. If it's still available; I'd really rather not have her rooming with Neesh."

"Heeey!" Naturally, my favorite tiefling chose exactly this moment to bounce up. "What's wrong with me? I am a perfectly acceptable roommate, and…" Her red eyes narrowed as she noticed the githzerai. "And where did you pick _her_ up from?"

"Remember that warded cell in Crossroad Keep?" I navigated through the taproom until I got to the table where most of my crew sat, nursing various drinks. Shandra followed, with a brief detour to the bar, grabbing some extra tankards and mugs. "She was in that one." I patted the empty chair next to me as I sat down. "Zhjaeve, sit, please." I looked around: everyone was here, except Khelgar who still was in seclusion as a trainee in Tyr's halls. "Everyone, Zhjaeve, Zhjaeve, everyone." I waved a hand around and attempted a smile. "You'll pardon me if I am not being very polite right now, but I will only be staying for a little before I am off to bed. I spent the day partly listening to Aldanon, then mostly in Castle Never with some paperwork, so my head is not in the best shape."

"Ouch." Shandra said sympathetically, sliding a tankard in front of me. "That would kill me too. Yes, she can have my old room, it was not rented out yet. I asked Duncan."

"So who's Greenie?" Bishop stuck his head out of his drink from the corner seat; he was seated as far from Casavir as possible without being at the next table. "Ugly skin, but with nice racks… Do they give them out free at Nasher's this week?"

"That's Bishop, Zhjaeve, just ignore him." I said wearily. "Except if he tries to touch you; then you are free to break his arm." I watched the githzerai calmly return the ranger's cold gaze. "Zhjaeve will be staying with us for a while." I swallowed: yes, I had to break the news to my companions sooner or later, and now probably was just as good time as ever. "Until we… until those of you who wish can move with me to Crossroad Keep." I watched their faces as I continued. "It seems I have a new assignment as the Captain of Crossroad Keep. In Neverwinter's service."

A moment of silence followed, predictably enough: I sought Casavir's eyes to see that he understood. I could see his shoulders slowly relaxing since he first spotted me across the room as I entered, and now there was a faint smile on his lips as he reached for the tankard in front of him.

"Lord Nasher has never made a better decision, my lady." he said, lifting his drink towards me. "Here's to the new captain."

The tension that was building in me all day and I didn't even realize I was holding eased at last. I let out a loud sigh of relief and gently bumped my tankard against his. I hoped my answering smile wasn't too wide or silly—it really wouldn't have done good right now to appear like a sniveling idiot.

"Wow, Rig!" Neeshka grabbed my arm excitedly. "That's neat! But… does it mean you have to live in that ruin?"

"Better yet, Neesh: I need to make it a real castle again." I took a swig of my beer: I had a feeling I needed more. "One of my duties will be to oversee the constructions and to train a border force and garrison." I stared at the table. "And I sure could use some help from you all. This will be…" I took another gulp. "I spent almost all day with going over plans and accounts with palace personnel and my new…umm, staff." I shook my head. "I got to practically move to the castle where they'll garrison the new recruits for training until the roads open up and we can move to the Keep so this chief architect called Veedle can start on the walls and buildings and roads and whatnots. I got to figure out where to get enough quarry for the building and how to transport, take care of provisions, get enough people to man the construction and, of course the garrison and patrols, restart the fields so we have food for next year…" I bit my lip as I remembered something.

"Oh, crap. Shandra, I am sorry…the Yule dinner!" I glanced towards Duncan at the bar. "Was supposed to be tonight, wasn't it?"

I felt horrible; they all gathered, waiting patiently, while I was stuck in Nasher's lesser receiving room with bureaucrats, paper-pushers and Nevalle to boot, trying to make sense of my new duties at least vaguely, for hours and hours until it grew dark and I realized I could not see the drawn-up plans Veedle, the straw-haired Cormyran master architect with the carefully shaped beard has put in front of me.

"It's all right, Rig." Shandra reached across the table and squeezed my fingers. "You were understandably occupied. Stop worrying: you got back in time. We were waiting for you, and were just discussing sending someone up to the castle to see what kept you when you showed up. "I slumped back in my chair with a deep sigh as the tension went out of me and she continued. "We set up in our usual room…so whenever you're ready…?" She grinned. "We'll just adjust for some more celebration, _Captain_, hmm?"

"Don't you start, woman." I muttered darkly, but suspected I was losing this battle seeing the smiles all around me. "I don't have the presents wrapped for anyone." I protested feebly. "It's all in a bunch of heaps in the bottom of my chest. I need to go and get them." I lifted my palms towards Shandra. "And scrub the ink off my fingers, I was doing bloody sums all afternoon…"

"Then you go up to your room, scrub, wrap and come back down." Shandra looked around. "You know where to find us, right? I'll tell Duncan to start warming things up for supper."

A couple of minutes later I found myself frantically grabbing various packages from my trunk with one hand, scrubbing my face and other hand with a washcloth in the meantime, then rooting through a pile of various stuff on the floor to find some pieces of velvet and ribbons to wrap things in. I also had to get rid of a rather large envelope I still had under my arm from Castle Never, full of notes and scraps of paper containing schedules, floorplans, list of names and necessities—I was warned that this would, from now on, be a constant state of affairs for me.

I was _so_ looking forward to it. Unlike most of those I've met this afternoon, I've seen that ruin they kept calling a castle, so I knew pretty well the enormity of the task I've been given.

"The thing barely has some roofs remaining so we can spend some safe nights inside apart from some of the palace wing quarters and the keep's main floor, for the gods' sake…" I fumed under my breath, tucking a misbehaving bow in place. "And no way I'll ever buy anyone musical instruments for Yule again…to wrap these things is a nightmare…Yes, what, I am just about ready!" I yelled, somewhat louder, at the door. "I was doing this as fast as I could, can I just…" I jumped up from the floor, scrambled to the door, stumbling over already wrapped presents, and opened it awkwardly, balancing on one foot. "Oh."

I've never seen him wearing green and gold before; the traditional Yule colors suited him, and that surprised me. He usually favored Tyr's blues or the practicality of leather and linen in drab grays and browns; brocade velvet definitely wasn't something I expected to see on him apart from our gala clothing for Tavorick's ball.

"I…sorry, I didn't expect to have to change into nice stuff." I said, trying not to look foolish with a washcloth in my hand and my hair all over my face.

"It's not compulsory." he said cautiously, peered over my shoulder and his eyebrows went up. "Oh my. Did Elanee accidentally release an air elemental in there…?"

"Did you just make a funny?" I asked incredulously and grinned. "Watch out, the heavens will collapse. No, I was way too busy making sure everything is properly wrapped so no one can find out what's inside…I didn't worry about inspection, but since you ask…" I stood aside. "Come in. You can help me with all the packages. As I know that was the only reason you showed up." I added as he closed the door behind him.

"Actually, I wished to congratulate you." he said quietly. "In a more… private setting than your uncle's taproom."

"Ah." All witty repartee went out of me, looking at him this close, feeling his aura lit up with warmth. Somehow, his arms went around my waist and somehow mine were around his neck. Somehow. "I could have killed your uncle, you know." I whispered feebly, leaning against him. This was the first time we were alone in a private place since forever, it seemed. "That place belongs to you."

"My uncle is a shrewd old politician and cares for the city first and foremost." He smoothed some loose tendrils of my hair out of my face, tucking them behind my ears with exaggerated care. I let my eyes close for a moment, enjoying his touch. "This was an excellent political move from all angles. Even though I, too, would contemplate some violent and distinctly unfitting actions against him for thrusting this title, land and burden upon you so sudden." he added after a moment's consideration, as his finger trailed down the side of my face, tilting my chin up gently. I shivered. "Will you allow me to help you, _meum mel_?"

"You talk too much... my lord." _It is unfair_, I thought vaguely through the haze of lavender and rose clouding my mind, fingers sliding up into the tangle of his hair. _Unfair that he only needs to utter endearing words using the sacred language of the god, and instead of feeling enraged over the profanity, even my celestial self melts into a shivering puddle. _"You know that I'd never refuse if you ask..." My voice was husky and breathless, as I leaned towards him.

"My lady is ever too generous." His breath tickled my hairline, and although I wasn't sure we can possibly get any closer, I felt my body move against his with a force I didn't realize I had in me. His back made a soft thudding sound against the door, and I tasted the surprise on his breath as I finally kissed him, lips and teeth clashing against each other.

It was so simple, after all the events of the day, just to feel the solidity of him, the play of his muscles against mine, the warmth of his skin even though layers of clothing, the slight tremble of his fingers as they somehow found their way under the edge of my jerkin and shirt, his ragged intake of breath as my mouth moved towards his ears, nipping on his earlobes, slowly working my way up to the tips...

And then he suddenly stopped and turned, twisting away.

"Ah...my lady... Arrighan...I think it is time to stop." He slowly withdrew his hands and took a deep breath. "I...don't think I'll be able to… honor my vow to you if we continue."

"Oh." I think even my toes were blushing. "Sorry, really...I just..."

"I don't think you quite understand." He shook his head ruefully, squeezing my fingers. "I never actually told you this, and it's rather embarrassing, really, but..." Another deep breath; yes, he was using those calming exercises we both knew from training. "Galavren Korranos, my ancestor was one of the elves who came with Lord Never, and..."

"And?" I felt my eyes widen, face still blazing. "That's a rather abrupt change of subject, Casavir, it really doesn't matter this far removed anyway, and..."

"Let me finish, _meum mel, _before I decide you are too innocent to be burdened with this." That name; I couldn't help but feel my knees go a bit weak again, even though I bristled a bit over that 'innocent'—it seemed singularly inappropriate just now. "It seems that through some strange blood ties I inherited a peculiar trait of elvenkind, if nothing else." He avoided my eyes. "My ears are..."

"Good gods!" I burst out; innocent I might have been, but even I heard about how certain parts of the body were more sensitive to touch then others. I sure hoped one day he'll get a chance to find out what mine was, because I sure as hells didn't know. "Goodness gracious, Casavir, are you saying... " He nodded, steadfastly gazing over my shoulder towards the window. "Um..." I ran out of things to say; I wasn't sure this could get any more awkward, but suddenly I had a horrible thought. "Don't take this the wrong way, but... how exactly did you know that it's an elven trait?"

There was a long pause, and a delicate blush on his pale cheeks. I looked at him, my head cocked to the side, waiting.

"Well?" My hair was in a bit of a disarray; I hastily pulled my hairpins out, stuck them in my mouth and started to rearrange it. Somehow I doubted Sand or Elanee gave him lessons in that regard…

"Her name was Eaydra." When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, and raw from memories. I sat down heavily on my bed, my hands clutching at each other unselfconsciously. All of a sudden this wasn't so funny any more."She was a temple orphan, a year older than me, brought up by Tyr's priestesses after she was found on the temple doorsteps as an infant. Her calling was a paladin's, like mine, so the priestesses sent her over to lodge with Prior Hlam's wards when her powers finally manifested. She had a lot of friends, almost instantly, and I had none, so I sort of became her project to draw out from my cocoon and eventually she succeeded. We were assigned as _speciales-_ companions-in-training through the rote when we first started weapons training. It is the custom of the chapterhouse here that male and female candidates train and eat together, and sleep in the same dormitories so the bonds can became strong and we learn that none of us are higher up." He grimaced, a sad little smile that didn't quite reach his eyes as he turned towards the window. "It's hard to explain just how… alone I would have felt in the first years, had it not been for her. No one knew who her parents were, but one of them obviously wasn't human. Not that it counted in the Halls of Justice where we were all equal."

"A half-elf." I whispered. "What happened?" My words sounded hollow: _why hadn't he mentioned her before? He said he'd never…_

"It was just after our final vows and consecrations…" His eyes were haunted as he sat down next to me. I took his hand; it felt cold. I slowly started to realize, after that terrible first wave of jealousy abated, that this was acutely painful for him." We got our assignments—I was sent to Old Owl Well as Callum's adjutant, and Eaydra was assigned to follow once she returned from a private mission she undertook on the request of a small village near the Luskan border which needed an adjudicator in some matters of law. It is customary to send newly minted paladins on such missions to try them, when a cleric can't be spared. She was all jokes and smiles before she departed, saying that with such a ridiculous name the village probably had some crimes involving a lot of ale, bagpipes and a merry widow or two…_'However, hopefully no goats were involved,_' I still remember her smile as she said that…" His voice faltered. "Gods, she was so full of life and sure of herself. I was always the one trying to hold her back, to temper her fire, to tell her to wait, to think…" His words fell flat like stones to the bottom of a dry well. "She never returned from that trip. A search patrol much later found the village burned to the ground, all inhabitants massacred. It was deemed to be the work of a Luskan assassin squad, something about their initiation rituals…"

I could see this fault line of his soul clearer now that he let it surface, and I shook to my core as I realized that this was why, in part, he held back with me. He saw me that day at Old Owl Well, and he saw in me a version of Eaydra, molded in a different way, but with the same determination to extinguish evil and do right…

"I told you the truth, my lady." He swallowed. "I've… never lain with her. We…we only realized we felt more than deep friendship not long before she had to leave. And after her death, I… It was like I just locked everything down into a room of my soul that was about joy or happiness, and there was only duty. It was as if I tried to convince myself she'd never existed, or that she was just a dream." He made a hapless gesture with his left hand. "I was eighteen…I thought the world was ending, that I will never, ever will feel like that again, and that I would never want to." That rang with the yellow of sadness in his aura; I felt the same color slowly spreading over me as I could almost taste the truth of his worlds. At eighteen…yes, I could certainly relate to that feeling. To say that I was moody, prone to sulk, weird mood shifts, a preference to wear grays and blacks, occasional overeating and bouts of despair over the fact that I was stuck in a swamp village with only glimpses of the outside world, offered by traveling merchants and my teacher I only saw twice a year…Yeah, _I_ thought my world was ending, too, and with considerably less tragedy happening in my life than in his.

"And five years at the frontier, at Old Owl Well, the Luskan wars…" Casavir continued, almost apologetically and I shook myself out of my reverie. "One grows accustomed to being without female companionship for a long time there."

_And after that, the tragedy of his father and his milk-brother_…No wonder that for all intents and purposes, he chose the life of chastity. It was a wonder he endured all, and still was able to shine as brightly in the god's power as he did. It was a wonder that after all of that, he could still shed the winter of his heart and hope that he can have a life with me once the darkness was over.

"Shh." I smoothed my palm over his cheek. "Casavir, I am so very, very sorry." My West Harbor accent was back, signaling just how the realization that yet again I was responsible for his pain upset me. "I really shouldn't have…"

"You had every right to ask me, my lady." He took my hand and breathed a kiss into my palm. "You had every right…I kept things back from you, and for that I should apologize. I hope you understand that it's difficult to open that door again."

"I do." I scooted closer and slid an arm around his shoulder, squeezing tightly. "I just wish I could take away some of the pain you had to carry."

"You can." he said slowly, some of the weariness easing from his voice. "Let me help you with this new duty that was given to you, don't doubt yourself so furiously at every turn, and hope that there will be a future that doesn't include darkness and despair for us." He paused. "I pray for it every day."

"May it be so." I nodded and closed my eyes, letting my head fall on his shoulder. "Casavir... I was eight years old then. I have absolutely no right to feel jealous, but yet, I am ashamed to admit that I..."

"Hush, _meum mel_..." He placed a finger on my lips. "You like to chide me for being overly apologetic; now let me return the favor. It very well may be that without you prompting, I would have held to this part of my past for much longer, and that would not have been right." He hesitated, that old pain entering his voice again. "I can only hope that you can trust me again, and soon."

"Trust you?" I straightened, meeting his eyes. "I never stopped that, Casavir. And I never will." With a rush of emotions swirling all over my aura, crimson sparks flying, I lifted his hand, entwined with mine, and placed it over my heart. "You dwell here, and you always will; whatever happens. Remember our vow?"

"My lady…" he whispered, eyes clouding over with silver and azure flames, and his arms closed around me like iron. My self-control wavered; I slid into his lap, and he clasped me to him like he was afraid I'd fly away.

"I am here." I murmured softly, my back arching; warm lips trailed down the side of my neck and I didn't want it to stop. "I am here. With you." Suddenly the room got very, very warm as our kisses became more than just gentle probing and promises...

_The presents._.. My always practical celestial side offered tentatively. _The dinner..._

_Screw the dinner... _ my human side answered impatiently; I rapidly became rather short on breath.

_No more of this taking it slow crap_, was the last of my conscious thought, then my human side decided it was time for instincts to take over. The celestial side was shortly, but firmly told to shut up and relax; I sent my hands forth, intent on figuring out whether Casavir resumed the habit of wearing a _cilicium_ again. I fervently hoped he didn't and in between more kisses I made sure it was so, as I worked the green-gold jerkin off his shoulders and started on his shirt.

"..should stop...?" Through silver-and-crimson haze and azure sparks, I felt, rather than heard, his rumbling voice slide across the skin at the base of my neck.

"Not yet..." I mumbled almost incoherently; I knew that this was definitely a new step in our complicated dance of courtship, perhaps an entirely new chapter. Right then and there I could care less, though, as one of his warm hands quested down to the bottom of my spine, sending all new sensations to the center of my body. "'S all good..."

Yes, that thrice-cursed and thrice-blessed spell of mine was fully at work again, and _this_ time we didn't resist it.

"I trust you." I heard myself say, pressing even more against him. "I trust you." I whispered breathlessly as we fell back on my bed, my hair cascading down over his face, so full of need, so openly longing. "I trust you..." I repeated as his fingers on my bare skin brushed the lower end of my shard-scar just above my bellybutton, willing the instinctive shudder away, willing him to continue, as my own hands resumed their exploration under his clothing..."I trust you…" I sobbed, as he twisted his hip and rolled me under him, pressing me against the bed, his kisses raining down on me like sparks of silver, crimson and azure…

I honestly don't know what else would have happened, had it not been a knock on my door and Elanee's clear voice from the corridor. As it were, it was jarring enough that all the haze vanished in front of my eyes in an instant.

"Arrighan? Are you all right, child?" I heard her ask. I never knew I could move so fast: I was standing, twisting my hair back up to its knot and dragging my shirt back over my shoulder before she finished that sentence.

_Where did my doublet go, anyway?_

"El?" I really hoped my voice wasn't as shaky as I thought it sounded. "I'm just finishin'... uh, giftwrapping here."

_And why do I feel like I am in a really stupid Cormyran comedy where everything has double meaning and it sends the audience tittering after each sentence?_

"Good." The druidess cleared her throat. "I was just wondering: you seemed rather tired. Do you need help carrying things?"

"I'll be fine." I found my doublet and managed not to tear off any buttons as I hastily donned it. I bit my lips to keep the sudden upwelling of giggles at bay. "Really, El."

"As you wish." I could almost see her graceful elven shrug, so similar to Sand's. _She probably wonders why I don't open the door and let her in_. "I shall tell the others you'll be down, ah, momentarily." Silence followed; I didn't expect to hear her leave. She always walked with the hereditary grace of her race, even on cobblestone or on echoing corridors.

"_Definitely_ a bad comedy play." I muttered under my breath and I risked a glance at Casavir. "And why do I have a feeling she knew you were in here?" As soon as I said that, I realized how stupid I sounded: she was an elven druidess with a keen sense of smell...

"Oh, shit." I said softly, not caring about my language a bit. "She _did_ know you were here." I felt my cheeks heat up. This was beyond embarrassing: I was glad it was her and not Neeshka, otherwise the whole inn would know by now. As it was, I just had to brace for her inevitably coming offer to brew me some tea.

"Mundane minds would consider her knocking on that door just now mere coincidence." He was standing too, running his fingers through his raven-dark hair, only a slight flush on his high cheekbones betraying the fire that burned between us only minutes ago. "We, however, should instead believe that there was much more at play here."

"Much more?" I shook my head. "What do you mean?" My voice faltered at the look upon his face.

"You... you mean this was... divinely inspired intervention?"

I tied to deny it, but as I cast my mind back at it, I had to realize this wasn't the first time...

_Shandra in the tent before my trial by combat._

_Grobnar with my forgotten sword on the corridor._

_My migraine and the demon attack following at Tavorick's._

_My vision of the King of Shadows here in my room._

"You are right…" I rubbed the side of my face. "Gods, you are right." The thought of Him watching over me, his Chosen, even when I wanted to so clearly lose my mind, made my skin go cold and my palms sweaty. "I don't know what to do…"

His expression grew serious as he searched my face. "My lady... Arrighan, I must ask this: did you mean what you said? That you trust me?"

"Of course I do!" I was confused by not so much what he said, but how he said it. "Is this... part of this whole courtship thing?" I asked tentatively, brushing an errant lock of his hair from his forehead, feeling the need to touch him again. "Did we... did I just say something that changes it?"

A shiver ran through his body and he exhaled slowly as I withdrew my hand.

"I believe so, yes." His deep voice was gentle. "It would mean that you…don't wish to take the lead in ah, the courtship any longer and…" He hesitated before continuing, "…by trusting me, you are allowing me to decide how far and when to go. It is a great honor, _meum mel_….if you decide to bestow it now that you know its meaning."

"Oh." I said smartly, then I fell silent for a second, weighing just what was going on unsaid. Was I really so used to leading by now in all aspects of my life, that in this as well, I unwittingly and impatiently wanted to take control and decide what's best, putting him in a situation where he had to choose between hurting me by refusing and giving in to what we both might regret later?

Apparently yes, indeed, that's exactly what was going on. I sighed, feeling the resonance of _truth_ in me, that growing sensation of being right that stemmed from me being one of Tyr's. All those instances lately where I was pushing and pushing while knowing that at the end I would probably dance back and say no anyway, because, like I told him once, I was all scared about giving up control over myself and my body…

He asked me to be his wife, to share his life, and I said yes: wouldn't that mean that, ultimately, it was time to trust him to know what was best for the both of us and not just merely deciding it myself and pushing it on him, expecting to follow like he always did? Was this what it was all about, what made a relationship work at the end….the hard part, the hardest of it all, perhaps, especially for one such as myself, accustomed of leading, being alone, making decisions and yes, being obeyed? The West Harbor hardheadedness and independence apparently was ingrained in me stronger than I believed it ever possible.

And yes, I had to decide how what he told me about Eaydra fit into the picture. I had to decide, for once and all, if I wanted to be jealous of a ghost, a woman he loved once when I was eight years old and unknown to him; or if I wanted to feel offended and hurt about his decision of not telling me about her earlier for fear of hurting me or opening up wounds on his own soul he wished to keep forgotten. Or I'd just let it go, knowing that it was the now that mattered, that he was well into healing completely and that perhaps the first time his life, he dared to hope and see the spring at the end of his long winter?

All of this flowed into one final conclusion, with its inevitability as certain as Tyr's Truth. I had to take a good hard look at the past months, the way I grew, the person I became, aware of my new powers, heritage and with the future stretching out in front of me bringing even more responsibilities, and make this decision now, with open eyes, aware of all of its implications much more then back when I accepted his proposal in that library.

"Yes. " I said firmly. I stretched up, linking my arms behind his head, staring into his impossibly azure eyes. "Yes, Casavir, I do trust you." I exhaled loudly. "I choose the hard path, but the one that has the most reward in the end. So help me Tyr, but I don't want to lose you before I had a chance to know you." My voice broke as I continued, and I hoped I said the right words: I tried to remember my readings from the Ertorian Cycle. "_Karus_, my champion, my knight… I yield to you so together we can be stronger."

Duncan's dinner, after all, proved to be surprisingly good; I even asked him where he had kept his culinary talent hidden so far. This was no burnt bacon sandwiches and stew full of mushy carrots: he made fresh fish soup redolent of fiery red peppers and onions, little stuffed cabbage leaves with smoked meats strewn amongst them in the pot, laced with sour cream; the obligatory roast geese with stewed fruit and mashed potatoes; and, as a tribute to our West Harbor roots, he closed the feats down with walnut and poppy seed rolls, their filling full of raisins and candied lemon and orange peel to add some Neverwinter zest to it. I almost felt like I had to loosen my belt right after the cabbage rolls, and I couldn't help but stifle a sigh thinking about how much Khelgar would have loved this, with his legendary appetite for anything greasy.

But he was away, my oldest traveling companion, in the Halls of Justice learning the ways of a monk, as it was his heart's desire, and couldn't be with us for several months still. I missed him, his bellowing laughs, his straightforward manner, his sudden outbursts of profanity—I wasn't sure how that might change once he's returned. Luckily, though, the rest of my merry little band didn't let me brood too much that evening. Neeshka and Shandra staged a mock fight over the table throwing nuts and apples that were scattered on the table as Yule decoration, with Sand's sarcastic comments in the background. I was glad to see that Elanee took Zhjaeve under her wings almost instantly: the two sat next to each other engaged in serious conversation through most of the evening. The next thing I knew, Elanee was scribbling away on a piece of foolscap: when I asked her she sensibly pointed out that we clearly need to equip Zhjaeve properly since her belongings were taken away by Garius when she was captured. At this point, though, Duncan came back and announced that Sir Darmon has arrived from the Castle, and the knight of the Nine followed on his heels, causing Elanee to blush and drop the pen she was holding. Darmon said he simply came by to congratulate me on my promotion and to let me know that Vale's team actually did recover Zhjaeve's equipment before we left Crossroad Keep, they just held it back for 'security reasons'. Bishop snorted at that, but Neeshka chose this moment to throw a walnut at him, and that occupied him for a bit. Darmon rose to leave shortly afterwards, but I caught the hint in Elanee's eyes and insisted that he stayed. Zhjaeve took this all in, with an amused look in her alien eyes, her veiled chin in her palm as she sat amongst us.

"Isn't it time for those gifts, my lady?" Casavir asked softly, leaning to my ear. I repressed a shiver; despite everything, I still reacted to his closeness more strongly than I'd have liked to show.

"Almost." I answered, one eye at the door. "If my hunches are right, there's someone else that should show up entirely by coincidence tonight and…ah, but here he is." I leaned back, smiling like the proverbial Waterdeep cat as Marshal Cormick strode in, still in full uniform, fresh off his work day on Yule Eve. The next moment, however, I was out of my chair and at the door, staring at the person who followed him and feeling some tears threatening to slip out.

"Khel!" I shouted as I attempted to lift him off his feet in a bear hug. "How the hells did they let you…?" I grunted and let go. He was rooted to the ground like a tree or rock, more strongly than ever.

The dwarf grinned up at me: four feet of solid muscle, his beer gut somehow diminished, dressed in a simple brown robe and a warm cloak pinned with a little holly bough signaling the holiday season.

"Little'Un, it's good to see ye." He grinned. "App'rently the marshal here had some words with the prior about letting me out jus' before the real training starts, so…" He shrugged. "As I wouldn't miss a dinner at Duncan's: he makes everything with bacon and lard, proper-like."

"And we're glad you could make it. "I looked at Cormick, mirth dancing in his eyes. "Marshal, I can't believe this was a coincidence…" I caught a small conspiratorial wink between him and Neeshka, and my eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute; you two planned this, right?"

"Well, when was the last time you got a dwarf for Yule?" Neeshka asked defiantly, tossing her red hair, and I heard Cormick snicker. "You kept sighing and making sad remarks about how you missed barrel-house awful much lately, so I asked Cormick if he had any idea if the monks would let Khelgar out, and he volunteered to speak with Prior Hlam about it."

I bit back a remark about just why exactly she was talking to Cormick about this, or at all, and decided to turn away and start to dish out some soup for Khelgar instead, who took my vacant seat with a satisfied grunt, clapping Casavir on the back jovially while he did so.

"Um…thank you, Neesh, Marshal." I said when I finally trusted myself enough not to break out in giggles. "I will remember to thank the good Prior personally for his kindness."

"You do that, Arrighan." Cormick was definitely amused, sitting down next to my favorite tiefling as if he'd always belonged there. _Oh well_. "More than that: take some poppyseed roll with you. I bet he'd like that."

"I just might." The thought of a full plate-clad Prior Hlam snacking on Duncan's delightful creation didn't help with containing the giggles; I hastily downed the contents of my goblet before Khelgar could claim it like he did with my seat. "Anyone's for opening presents now?" I lifted my voice to cut through the general chatter that started to fill the room.

"Well, _I_ would be." Grobnar said cautiously. "After all, this is a lot of unopened boxes and packages. Who knows what hides in some of them…best be sure there's nothing that might blow up in our face, right?"

Shandra and I looked at each other and shook our heads in perfect agreement; no, we still couldn't decide when to take the gnome seriously, if at all.

"You all go right ahead." said Khelgar magnanimously, waving his spoon around. "I was told I am a present all by meself, so I'll just sit here and eat an' watch you ripping open packages and such."

"Worst present, like, ever." muttered Qara, casting a dark glance towards the dwarf. "Fine, let's get this over with, I am with the gnome this time." she announced. "And I can't tell you how much that disturbs me." she added, wincing.

Duncan bustled in, carrying a large pitcher full of hot mulled wine, poured for everyone, and, after taking a look at the haphazardly piled assembly of gifts, declared that he'd take over the distribution. He proved to be surprisingly efficient and organized about it. I had to decide, as we settled in for a long evening of gift-unwrapping in the cinnamon, cloves and pine-scented warm air, that this was probably the old adventurer emerging from the shell of the bitter, selfishly business-like almost-drunkard innkeeper he basically was when I first showed up at his doorstep and before he met Shandra. Then I stopped thinking about such things and concentrated on the presents, both given and received.

"That's for, um, a portrait." I said to Duncan; he looked awkwardly at the richly gilded but empty wooden frame of a painting. I looked at Shandra. "Technically, this is for both of you. Shan, you remember Master Pepo and how he wanted to paint your portrait, right?"

During one of our Blacklake walks, the portrait-painter stopped us in front of his exquisite little shop and insisted that he must have Shandra as a model for her 'natural beauty exemplifying country charm'. Shandra managed not to punch him in the face and passed over it with a laugh, but I remembered.

"I do, but…" Shandra's face lit up. "Oh. You mean, you…"

"It is all arranged with the master; be at his shop tomorrow morning at the chime of nine bells for the first session." I grinned. "The frame is extra, from me. I hope it's not too gaudy. If you take it to the last sitting, his assistant will take care of the framing as well"

"Thank you." Duncan said thickly and enveloped me in a bear hug. My uncle, for all his drinking and eating, still had formidable strength. My smile was a bit strained as he finally released me and I carefully checked for cracked ribs-- only partly for his pride's sake. He beamed at me with a small wink, and handed me a small, flat package.

"And this is from me, to you." he said a bit awkwardly. "I know you've never had the time to go and ask at the Archives, so I did it for you." He took a deep breath. "There are…other things there as well. It is time that you receive them…before you can go back to West Harbor again."

There were some pieces of parchment in the package, a bit torn and yellowed by time. The top one was crisp and new, though, a copy notarized by one of the clerks at the Halls of Justice, testifying that this was a copy of the original document from the records of the Order of the Maimed Hand, the monks of Tyr in Neverwinter. It showed that in the year 1348, one of the orphans of the Halls of Justice, Esmerelle Pendwyr, took her vows as one dedicated to serving the Even-Handed.

I swallowed as I glanced at the rest of the parchments: those were letters, I saw, and for that I knew I needed more privacy. The package smelled a bit musty, like it sat somewhere for a long time; but a sweet scent of jasmine still clung to it, one that evoked some deep response from me, constricting my throat and making my eyes rimmed with tears. I recalled that scent from the depth of my childhood memories, the scent that clung to some clothes, bed linen and books I had as a child, a scent I've learned to cherish and yearn after. Daeghun told me once when I asked that my mother loved jasmine: there was an old bush behind the house, leaning over the back porch, its white flowers sweetening the air on summer nights.

"Thank you." I whispered to Duncan, who gave me a lopsided grin, full of sadness and untold apologies. I carefully rewrapped the package and set it aside so I can look at it later in the privacy of my room. I shook my head to clear it a bit, and watched as the distribution of gifts continued, feeling strangely calm and content, but somehow detached. It might have been the effect of Duncan's gift, the knowledge that part of my own past was waiting for me to be revealed as soon as I read those letters that caused my celestial side to unfurl its great feathery wings and enfold me in its soothing embrace—I could sit there, tired but not exhausted completely, feeling almost as something was humming in my very bones, and slowly smiling at one or other or my companions with their half-opened packages and boxes. I sat next to Khelgar and slowly filled him in about what transpired since he took up training and seclusion—and noticed that although Duncan filled a large mug for him full of mulled wine, he never touched it; instead, he sipped hot water from the stove in the corner. I giggled at Neeshka's excitement over the smooth, thick bedsheets and towels I chose for her. I knew that growing up as one of the orphans in Helm's Hold she surely didn't have a chance to experience the luxury of those, let alone as a thief in Neverwinter, however skilled she'd become despite her young age. Grobnar got a dozen of colorful feathers from exotic birds to decorate his large-brimmed hats, and some nice, leather-bound notebooks to jot down his stories —these I picked up from Deekin, the strange kobold merchant who somehow managed to set up shop in the city. For Sand, I found a book of Elven poetry in Deekin's haphazard collection of old books in an ancient chest, and a new, custom-made scroll belt with loops for various other things such as wands and little pouches for crafting components. The wizard seemed pleased enough; certainly more so than Bishop, who received no less than three dozen handkerchiefs from Shandra, Neeshka and myself, and a pouch full of cold-curing tea from Elanee.

"What the hells…?" the ranger muttered, looking at the colorful rectangles of cloth and the delicate pouch of herbal mix. "What's this supposed to mean, anyway?"

Neeshka volunteered an answer after seeing that neither Shandra nor I were particularly willing to supply one, and Elanee was busy admiring one of her gifts, a miniature statue of Rillifane, the elven god of nature and druids.

"You always sound like you have a cold, Bishop." my tiefling said, winking. "What with the sniffling and all. We apparently figured you can use some help with that." She shrugged, almost innocently. "That was the only explanation we could think about…'cause, you know, surely we couldn't believe the other possibility of you using some kind of drugs…?"

With all the chuckling around him, the ranger didn't get a chance for what he so obviously had in his mind, judging by the way his neck muscles strained as he visibly calmed himself.

"Look at the demonspawn talking." he spat, hazel eyes unusually heated. "Are you saying you've never gotten involved in running any illegal substances yourself in your days, Neverwinter's Greatest Thief?"

"I've never touched the stuff, Bishop." Neeshka prickled, her red eyes almost afire. "Taking it or running it, it doesn't matter. It gets to you and eats your soul, one way or another." She made a face. "And I am no tanar'ri descent either, get that straight."

"Fine, devil's get." Bishop turned away in disgust. "Don't see no difference in how the world's treating you either way." he shot back over his shoulder before he stomped out of the room.

"Can't take a joke, that boy." Khelgar sniffed, finishing another piece of goose. "By Tyr's right buttock, this tastes better than what I had since I joined the Order!" He let out a genuine, Khelgar-style belch. "I am feasting today and tomorrow, but after that, it's fasting for me again."

"I missed you, too, Elder Brother." I winced a bit at his profanity, but I haven't heard his voice so long I almost didn't mind. "So how much longer in training?"

"Meh, they want to make sure I have manners fit for a monk before they let me out, that's for sure." He patted his stomach and pushed the plate, full of clean bones, away from him. "Should be out by springtime, if for nothing, because I'd die from being cooped up with all those tall people." He grinned at me. "Why, Little Sister, I thought you had plenty here to entertain you?" He winked, jerking his head towards where Casavir sat with Grobnar, their heads bowed over their instruments: the gnome with his mandolin, the paladin with the lute I picked for him for Yule at the fair. They played _Past Times With Good Company_, as Shandra hummed the lyrics slowly, almost lazily:

_Past time with good company_

_I love, and shall until I die_

_Grutch who lust, but none deny_

_So Tyr be pleased, thus live will I_

_For my pastance_

_Fight, sing and dance_

_My heart is set;_

_All goodly sport_

_For my comfort_

_Who shall me let?_

"Very un-monkish, you are." I said primly, shaking my head and feeling flushed. That remark hit home, particularly in the light of what just happened in my room earlier. "I wonder what your superiors say about that."

"Eh, Abbot Glenn is very forward-thinking." Khelgar's eyes narrowed. "Otherwise yer Prior Hlam wouldn't have been able to convince him to take me in. But tell me, for true, why do you ask?"

"Khel, I…" I took a deep breath. "Two things. One, I am not sure if anyone told you yet, but I was made Captain of Crossroad Keep and I need some help running the place. Once you're done with your training, I…would offer you a place, and the possibility of, I don't know, start a new place of worship in the keep together with whatever cleric I can beg Judge Oleff and Prior Hlam to send to me…Plus, I need you to help me with my recruits who would have to learn something beyond basic fighting." I smiled at him sheepishly. "You are the best close-range fighter I know, Elder Brother, and you always had some nasty tricks up your sleeve: but I know that dwarves train to fight in units with heavy equipment above all else." I remembered some stories he told me after we've met his kin in the Sword Mountains. He didn't say much, but from what I was able to piece together, he was at least a small platoon leader back before he left the Ironfist Clan lands to seek fame, fortune and his heart's desire.

"And with what you probably learn at the monastery…unless it's forbidden for you to help us out, I'd really be honored." I finished lamely, then sighed and added my other request, the one I actually dreaded more. "And… another thing. I'd also like you to accompany me when I go back to West Harbor in the spring when the Mere roads thaw."

"Stone and hammer, lass… that's quite something." Khelgar smoothed down his beard. "You invite me to be…what? A servant of Neverwinter?"

"No, Elder Brother." I shook my head, hoping he didn't take offense. Ironfist pride and honor was something I bruised all too often in the early weeks of us traveling together. "I ask you to help me, your companion, with something I alone can't bear. I also would like to share what Tymora deemed to be my share of fortune with you: to live in Crossroad Keep and call it home, if you so wish." I fiddled nervously with the trimming of my doublet and I looked at him.

"Hmm." His dark eyes glinting, Khelgar regarded me with a long stare. "You mean that, I can tell. For a dwarf, for one of the Ironfists, that is serious matter. For one of Tyr's wondering little brothers, it is even more so." The hardness in his gaze thawed suddenly, and he extended his scarred, thick hand towards me. "I accept your gift in the spirit it was given, Little Sister. I will come to your Crossroad Keep when I am free to travel, and will dwell there with you as long as you allow me to do so." His somber tone easing into gentle teasing, he continued. "But tell me, why do you need me as an escort to West Harbor? Would yon Casavir not be willing to accompany you on that journey?" He regarded me with a bemused expression as I squirmed uncomfortably on my chair. "Ha!" he barked triumphantly, a slow grin spreading on his face. "Say no more... Khelgar Ironfist is the quietest and most discreet dwarf in the Sword Mountains." Considering he bellowed this almost the top of his lungs, that was at least doubtful. I winced.

"Khel, really, it's not like that..." I tried to protest, to no avail. I caught myself glancing towards where Casavir sat, still playing, his fingers dancing on the strings of the lute, a small, rare smile of contentment on his lips as he and Grobnar accompanied Shandra's singing still, and I stifled a sigh, remembering how those same fingers felt on my bare skin...

"I told you,'s alright." Khelgar winked conspiratorially. "I understand. Back at home whenever a clan male was in a woman's company, an older family member always had to be present as well. Very proper folks, the Ironfists are." He leaned closer. "Did I get that right? Is that why you want me to go with you? I am honored either way..."

"Elder Brother, you shame me." I ducked my head to hide the reddening of my cheeks. His perceptiveness became somewhat uncomfortable, and yet I had to be frank and open with him—we both served the One who valued truth above all. "But you are my oldest traveling companion, and a friend. I cannot in good conscience travel with Casavir alone. We..."

Khelgar patted my hand; that gesture and its gentleness were new, just like the tone with which he continued. I had to realize his training as a monk of the Even-Handed indeed transformed him, at least in part.

"Later, Little 'Un, later. Everything has its turn—if and when ye want to talk, there will be time." He stretched and hopped off his chair. "For now, I think I'll go and get back to the Halls...maybe I even ask that other paladin in the room to take a walk with me, eh?" Before I could say a world, he was off, with that new quickness and agility that, I knew now, I had to get used to. I saw him tap Casavir's shoulder and say something in a low voice: my knight looked up from his new instrument, nodded at Khelgar and, slightly bowing to Shandra and Grobnar, rose to accompany him back to where I sat.

"So we're off to the halls of Justice, lass." Khelgar's eyes twinkled as he pulled the hood of his cloak up around his face. "Don't worry; I won't keep him too long."

"Oh, short leash, short leash." Bishop chose the exact moment to saunter back to the room; he had his new pipe lit, the one Qara gave him, with beautifully carved soapstone head and expensive mahogany and ebony handle; a mug of ale in his other hand, and an almost murderous smile on his face. "Forgot to ask, holy girl: what did His Holiness give you as a gift? Or was it not so much of a giving, but more of a _taking_?"

The jolt of anger that shot through me was almost frightening in its purity. I could now understand what Casavir felt so many times when Bishop taunted him during our travels: the ranger's crude question cut too close to the mark, this time. However, I couldn't let myself to be ruled by such emotions, I reminded myself, and, recalling what Elanee told me once about letting my celestial side balance out my human foibles, I allowed the rustle of white feathers to grow louder in my ears.

_Sometimes, even a paladin is allowed to use unconventional weapons; especially when it is to defend someone else._

I exhaled, and I felt my mouth twist into a wide smile as I turned towards Casavir, linking my arm into his.

"You know, Bishop…" I never knew I could purr, but what the heck, there was always a first. "That's not such a bad idea, all things considered. How about it, Casavir?"

"Hmm." A thoughtful frown appeared on his smooth forehead, but Casavir only hesitated for a second. "I am not sure, my lady… Are you up to it so soon after…?" He left that sentence unfinished, one eyebrow quirked in challenge, and I resisted the temptation to punch the air triumphantly or to burst out laughing. Instead, I sighed with mock resignation, and, keeping an eye on Bishop's face, I lowered my eyelashes.

"Don't overestimate your… _capabilities_, my lord." I murmured lazily, letting my hand trail down on his arm. Next to us, Khelgar chortled. "Last time you barely had the strength to stand up after half an hour."

"Says the woman who complained about the bruises on her thighs for a week, hmmm?" Yes, this was definitely amusing. "Forgive me for having doubts about you keeping up with me."

"_What_, by Beshaba's tits, are you two talking about?" Bishop burst out, his face bewildered.

"Oh." I opened my eyes wide. "Goodness, Bishop, I am _so_ sorry. I just realized you might have thought…" I cast my eyes down demurely. "Casavir and I exchanged gifts in a true Tyrran tradition: one extravagant and one relentlessly practical each. My practical gift to him was a new sword instead of his old one that got broken during the fight with Garius; I thought you were asking about our morning sparring practices?"


	53. The Space Where I Can Breathe

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**I write to music; and this chapter owes a lot to certain pieces. I haven't had a Sarah McLachlan-inspiration for a while, but listening again and again to her **_**Elsewhere**_** on her album **_**Fumbling Towards Ecstasy**_** managed to help me in writing the first part of this chapter. Sting and The Chieftains provided the idea for Ballard and the soldiers' singing with their rendition of the old Irish song **_**Mo Ghile Mear **_**on**_** The Long Black Veil. **_**The 'Amnian Handkerchief' is paraphrased from the Irish ballad, **_**The Holland Handkerchief**_**, as sung by Connie Dover on**_** If Ever I**_** R**_**eturn. **_**There was also **_**Goodbye My Love**_**, from Tyler Bates' soundtrack to **_**300**_**, for the end scene.**

**I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… I take full responsibility for that Pendwyr girl, though... **

**Chapter Fifty-Three: The Space Where I Can Breathe**

That winter was simultaneously the longest and the shortest of my life. The new year arrived, 1383, The Year of the Vindicated Warrior, as the Candlekeep scholars named it after the ancient prophecies that assigned a name to each passing year long, long before they came to be. The weather was bleak, the days short and the nights cold, although the City itself didn't suffer snow due to the river's warmth. Hammer almost passed, and every morning I rose from wherever the night found me, knowing that the day would probably be the exact same as the previous one. And every night when I went to bed, I prayed so I didn't have dreams about my mother.

Those letters…While I was grateful to Duncan that he gave them to me, it felt like they opened a gate to a hitherto unknown part of my soul, the part which somehow was locked away that night when my mother died defending me and the silver shard of Gith's sword embedded in my chest. I knew you were not supposed to have memories of the time when you were a year and a half-old or younger, yet there I was, in my dreams clearly seeing my mother's face leaning over me. I saw that she had flaming red hair arranged in tight braids pinned over her head, she wore a finely-woven linen shirt and soft trousers, and the god's holy symbol was hanging from her neck that I loved to grab and chew on. I heard her deep, melodious voice lifted in a song, smelled the scent of jasmine lulling me into sleep, knowing that I was safe with her…

There weren't any big secrets revealed about my heritage on those yellowing pieces of parchment—they were semi-regular missives sent by my mother to Duncan, her old traveling companion, back to Neverwinter when he retired from adventuring and opened up the Sunken Flagon. She continued with the wondering life, as her Order gave her some specific missions from time to time. She sent the letters via the network of Tyr chapter-houses and their correspondence couriers, and apparently Duncan made the trek regularly those years to the Halls of Justice to get them, sometimes several bundled into a package at once. All these I was able to gather from those pages, and more: my mother wrote in a tight, precise and somewhat eloquent style, occasionally full of references to places and events that probably alluded to their shared adventures.

_I hear Daeghun and Shayla are back in West Harbor._ She wrote in a letter dated 17 Marpenoth, The Year of the Prince, 1357. _I have my sources, and you know how famous Dae has become eventually. I wish them all the joys Sune has to offer without the heartbreaks she can also bestow on occasion. I know how much in love they are—I've never seen him as happy as the day when Shayla finally agreed to marry him. I wish, dear Duncan, that you'd find a lass who's willing to share your newly chosen profession with you, I wish that you… Would you tell them their Esme thinks about them often?_

I swallowed thickly as I traced the signature at the bottom of the parchment. It seemed I stumbled upon some secrets after all, but it wasn't my own, and it only made the long loneliness of Duncan Farlong more poignant. My mother's unfinished sentence there put the way Duncan almost never talked about Esmerelle Pendwyr but how he treasured the few physical memories of her existence—the letters, her headscarf—in an all new light. I was glad he found Shandra at last, and I truly hoped, like my mother, that Sune's light will shine on them without any clouds marring it.

The last missive was brief, and hurriedly written, with a hand quite unlike my mother's now-familiar, elegantly loopy handwriting. The letters and sentences were almost heaped upon each other, tumbling out of her quill in a frenzied haste with ink splotched across the page.

_The world goes mad, Duncan. The heavens tumble and shake, and there is a storm coming the like of which we haven't seen in our lifetimes and perhaps beyond. _I looked at the date: the Year of Shadows, 1358. A chill went through me when I realized when that was: The Time of Troubles, the year when the gods were cast down, when many of them died, when Chaos seemed to reign on Abeir-Toril for the better span of a year. The year before my birth.

_We learned to see its signs… but now it's upon us and our world will never be the same. My Order bids me to keep my silence, and I can't, even in this secure missive, tell you more: I am heading back to Neverwinter on orders. If you don't hear from me again by next month, dear one, and the chapterhouse cannot give you further news, please do light a candle for my soul, for the mission I am embarking now surely is the most dangerous one I've ever had._

_I spoke too much already. I must go—the time is here. Know that I was thinking about you. Know that I wished you'd been here with me. Know that I…_

That was all. I stared at the parchment for a long, long time before I carefully re-wrapped the whole bundle and hid it amongst my clothes in my chest. Then, like a sleepwalker, I rose and headed out of my room, up to Castle Never, where I buried myself in recruitment reports, equipment requisitions and building plans for the rest of the day. The night found me by my desk still, and I worked feverishly until sleep finally found me, still dressed, resting my head on a stack of papers. The next morning I sent for my belongings to the Flagon and moved in to the castle, to my temporary office, setting up a cot in the corner. I just couldn't face anyone with that in my head. It didn't stop the dreams, like I said, but at least I was out of the way of everyone with my troubled thoughts about the secret mission my mother was on and about which she never talked about, not even to her closest friend.

_And the year after that, I was born_…My thoughts kept returning to that fact, cold and rational. I couldn't shake the suspicion rising in me that it was more than a mere coincidence, and I ached to get to the Halls of Justice and ask. At the same time, though, I dreaded what I might find out… hence I stayed, resisted, didn't meet any of my companions, and dreamed about my mother every night, she of the flaming red hair, pale, heart-shaped face and cloud of jasmine.

And I worked. I read my way through the stack of preliminary assessments, estimates, queries, pay authorizations and requisitions already piled up on the desk in the small office I was assigned. As the days passed, as my duties increased, and my knowledge expanded rapidly, the realization hit hard, almost physically making me reel back: I wanted this to succeed, more than anything before in my life. I wanted Crossroad Keep to be rebuilt, wanted it to be what it wasn't in a long time: a _home_, a refuge for those who wanted something that life, Fate or the cruelty of circumstances denied them this far. I wanted it to be whole, I wanted it to work, and I grimly set myself to the task to make that happen as soon as possible, even if I had to sacrifice my hours of sleep or any human contact for a while. It was quite possibly the exact reason why Nasher made this move, and I grudgingly had to admit that it was, yet again, a brilliant move in the great chess game of statecraft on his part. Before I even had a chance to set foot on the grounds of the Keep again, I already was attached to it more securely than if he'd given me a manor house, new and shiny. Once spring arrived and construction started, I had a possibility to _create_ something, as opposed to fight, smite and kill, my lot for such a long time since I left West Harbor. It bothered me from time to time, all the bloodshed and I suspected part of the reason for my recurring nightmares might have been the way my celestial side reacted to the necessary violence I had to perform as a paladin and as Tyr's Chosen, now.

But for _this_ to work, I had to be single-minded and dedicated, and allow my celestial side to fully come to the surface—on the expense of my human needs and emotions. And that's why I avoided all my companions and didn't even send for Casavir. While I knew I could have used his help in making sense of managing the bureaucracy that only increased and the days passed, with my sense of hard duty I knew he'd be a distraction right now. Night after night, I lay on my cot sleepless for a long time, rows of numbers and drawings of battlements and stone walls dancing in front of my eyes, and I wished he'd be there with me. The need for physical closeness, to feel his muscles against mine, his breath on my skin was almost unbearable, spreading silver fire in my veins. My spell, the inadvertent invocation of Chauntea's and Sune's powers to bind us together tugged at me insistently, and the sweet pull of desire that made me feel almost drunk was hard to resist…This was one of those times when being a paladin meant walking the hard path, and I each morning I felt I understood better those of my calling who chose chastity and resistance of all temptations of the flesh.

I wanted this dream of building a home to succeed, and I thought I couldn't afford the distraction. And down to the last fiber of my being, I wanted Crossroad Keep to _be_ for all of us, for all of my companions, this strange motley merry band, my adopted family.

The barracks of the Greycloaks stretched next to the stables of the castle, in one of the lesser-known wings. The official recruiting for the Crossroad Keep garrison was in full swing, and the newly signed-up had to be trained during the long idle winter hours so they were at least in a semi-decent shape by the time we moved out into our new home. And that right there presented a challenge in itself. My nominal castellan, an efficient, cool and absolutely beautiful woman named Kana was handpicked by Nasher, it seemed, for her ability to remain completely unfazed by my inexperience and her endless patience enduring my blunders. Her family, I was told by Nevalle, hailed from Shou, long-distance merchants settling down in Neverwinter. How their daughter ended up with the Greycloaks, I hadn't been able to discover yet: my attempts to befriend the woman were met with polite, but cold rebuttals and strict adherence to protocol and rank. She was proper military, through and through, and that was what really hammered home just what a big difference it was between being one of Tyr's holy warrior and one of Nasher's paid soldiers, albeit both of us lived the life of the sword and judiciously applied violence.

And that's precisely why, after Kana, observing me trying to do something on the training fielding those early weeks, politely explained to me that no, she's not here to train the new recruits and no, I was not there to do that either, I jogged to the other side of the Greycloak barracks and hunted down Captain Ballard.

"I am requisitioning you, Captain." He was busy polishing his boots when I found him in his tiny room, clearly off duty. The way he jumped up into attention, eyes darting around to see if there was anything that might offend me, taught me an important lesson right away. I should have either sent someone for him, or announced myself, but to barge in on him unannounced constituted a highly unusual move, decidedly unfitting the chain of command.

Despite that realization, I plunged forward with what I wanted to say. I was shy on sleep for quite a while by then, and that made me even more blunt than usual.

"I have a high and growing number of raw Greycloaks on my hand who need to be in a fitting shape for garrison, patrol and guard duty, come spring. My marching orders are rather clear from Lord Nasher on what needs to be accomplished, but not so clear on how." I waited for a measure and watched him swallow. "I had the honor of working with you at Lord Tavorick's. I have no idea how the channels of command work just yet, but if you tell me your commander's name and where I can find him, I will ask him to reassign you to Crossroad Keep as part of my staff. With your usual crew, of course. "I hastened to add.

He gave me his commander's name and location. I suspected he did it out of sheer self-preservation as I really was in quite a bad mood after spending the better half of the morning with Kana. I thanked him and ran further into the maze of officer housing to find Commander Ronthel. He turned out to be a terrible little man with piercing black eyes, a mustache that he probably spent hours to shape and a penchant for speaking as if he was issuing orders even during normal conversation.

"What! Can I!! Do for you!" he barked at me, with hands behind his back, rocking on his heels and looking up at me. It didn't help that he was a head and half shorter than I; I suspected the shouting was a way for him to make up for his small stature.

"I apologize for the intrusion on your time, Commander." I started with the most courteous voice I can manage. "I have a favor to ask you if I may?"

"Squire Pendwyr! Yes!!!" Ronthel shouted; outside his window a couple of crows startled from their examination of the parade field and flew up, cawing. "New Captain of Crossroad! Keep for His! Grace!!" His sudden grin exposed crooked teeth, blindingly white. "You don't remember!! Me!"

"I am afraid I don't really have the honor of..." I started, and then suddenly it came to me. It was the grin. "By Tyr... Sir Grayson's Yule breakfast, wasn't it?"

Ronthel nodded, and yet again, I had to remember that when it all came down to it, Neverwinter wasn't that big of a city by Faerunian standards. Its leading circle was pretty tight-knit, and, like it or not, I moved in it now. I indeed met him at Sir Grayson's, or at least, I vaguely remembered _seeing_ him. I was introduced to quite a number of people there, but barely remembered any of them. The breakfast was the morning following Duncan's Yule dinner and I was still reeling from the amount of food and the several cups of spiced wine.

I felt definitely ashamed, and I told him so. He smoothed down his mustache and shot me an appraising look.

"Honest, eh!! I like that!! In! A woman!" Normally I would have bristled about that, but right then I was still embarrassed about the fact that I didn't recognize him and just smiled sheepishly. "Now, what was!! It that you wanted!!"

_Honesty you like, hm_? My human snide snickered wickedly. W_ell, here is some good old-fashioned West Harbor frankness mixed with Tyrran diplomacy then, Commander....And in a woman to boot._

"I want Captain Andrey Ballard reassigned under my command with his entire unit." I smiled again, this time showing teeth. "It shouldn't be a problem, right? He's currently without assignment if I understand it correctly. He was recommended as an excellent drill instructor by his former commander and my brother in Tyr, Lord Korranos, and..." I ducked my head and looked at him shyly. "Of course, I can always get it in writing from His Grace's office... but I didn't think it would be necessary. Would it?"

Ballard reported to me the next day at Highsun, with all his men.

"Excellent." I clapped my hands together, glad to be free a bit from the list of quarry supplies Veedle put on my desk in the morning. I jotted down on the margin 'send to Port Llast-Calindra', and tossed the blasted thing on top of the pile already threatening to topple over. The amount of paperwork I had to deal with here rivaled the requirements of the Watch, almost. "Just the man I was waiting for. Did Commander Ronthel say anything?"

"No, ma'am." Ballard stood at attention, staring straight ahead. "I was told to pack up and report here posthaste. My room was given to my lieutenant already."

"Oh." I bit my lip. I suspected Ronthel was trying for something like that. Anyone with a mustache requiring that much trimming and waxing…"We can squeeze you in; I don't have a big command staff yet, so the officer quarters here are kind of spacious." Actually, I didn't even have any staff sergeants, a fact that quietly drove Kana mad, and I suspected Ballard would need to at least use some of his own men in that role until I could find some others. I had at least one in mind, but that required either a long trip, or some couriers sent, and neither could be done until the roads thawed. "Are you ready to start with the recruits today? I could show you the ropes and such."

"Ma'am…" he started, hesitantly, still standing at attention. "Permission to speak frankly?"

"Of course, Captain." I said, attempting a smile. "Hardly can otherwise to a Tyrran, right?"

_Uh-oh._ That was clearly not the best thing to say; I could see from the stiffening of his shoulders that he, like Kana, disapproved of my manners that were decidedly not conforming to military standards.

He took a deep breath before he spoke again.

"You are an excellent warrior, ma' am, I could see that firsthand in Tavorick's mansion." His brows drew down as if he didn't like what he had to say next. "But, no offense, this is soldiers' work, and you're no soldier. If I am to take this assignment, I need to know that you will not be breathing down my neck, questioning the way I do things and let me do what I deem best to achieve mission objective. You're the Captain of the Keep, but you are not military; you're one of the Even-Handed's paladins and as such, you're outside the structure with no experience in command. You lead by example." He swallowed, meeting my eye for the first time since he came to my office. "I am ready to give all I have to this; if you're ready to let me."

That was the longest speech I've ever heard from him. His honesty was in earnest: I could almost taste the desire in his words to really be able to get this right, the fear that I might take offense, and the excitement of finally doing something worthwhile other than rotting in the barracks and seeing no action other than cleaning his own boots and putting up with Ronthel's tirades.

Sometimes I wasn't sure if the Sight that Tyr granted me was a blessing or a curse; I never wanted to see so deeply into anyone's soul unless it was absolutely necessary. I started to understand why the higher-ranking followers of the Just One were regarded with almost dread amongst the common folk—albeit they rarely used their Sight, it must have been a terrifying thought that someone should be able to deduce truth from lies unerringly. And my gift was even more precise than that: honed to a fine razor-blade during my Trial, if I focused it, the fault lines of any soul were laid bare in front of me.

I tried to dampen it, to switch it off, even—it felt too much like a violation, almost on a physical level, to use it on someone not willing to let me. But on occasion, like now, a soul just opened up to its merest brush, and I was awarded by more than a mere glimpse. I received images, feelings, or even coherent thoughts. It was hard to describe or put it in words—the fact alone that I had it scared me enough that I didn't dare to approach anyone about it.

"Captain Ballard..." I hesitated, and then decided that this time diplomacy was not called for. "I do appreciate the honesty. I can't lie, as you know, so I won't say your words did not sting. However, it is more important that they were true. I am no soldier—and will never be." It suddenly filled me with melancholy: that was one undeniable truth, and one experience I will never be able to share with Casavir. I could only...

I bit my lip. Yes, I could only _learn_ from him how to handle this situation, and fast. _So suck up your West Harbor pride, Arrighan, and get a move on._

My human side was absolutely correct. There I was again, thinking I could do all of this alone, since Nasher put the burden on my shoulders.

_That's another thing you need to learn_. This time it was a brush of white feathery wings: my celestial side. _Delegate and delegate. Otherwise you crumble_.

I'd have been ashamed if I hadn't been too busy thinking about my next steps. I felt like I just surfaced from underneath an oppressive, dark pool of water, and I felt absurdly grateful for Ballard to remind me that I wasn't immortal, all-knowing and that yes, indeed, pride was a vice to which even paladins could fall.

So I let Ballard and his crew loose on the recruits, informed Kana that training has been taken care of at least for the time being, told her to figure out the most efficient way to have our food supply problem squared, kicked out Veedle when next time he came in to my office asking about when he could get the requested amount of sandstone and marble delivered to the Keep (had to tell him the weather mages didn't get paid to alter the frost over the roads outside the City itself)... then flagged down one of the palace couriers who always seemed to be mysteriously vanishing when I was looking for one but this time I lucked out, and sent him back to the Flagon with a little note to Casavir that simply said: HELP, in all capital letters. Then I started to make my own list of things to get done, as opposed to just following whatever Kana or Veedle's latest report contained.

I was scribbling at the bottom of the second foolscap: 'needs armorsmith-Edario from Highcliff?' in my shirtsleeves, listening to Ballard bellowing at the new men outside already, when he finally knocked on my door.

"Gods, I am so happy you're here!" I burst out as soon as he closed the door behind him. I jumped up from my chair and was by his side in a second. "I'm sorry I wasn't asking you earlier, but you won't believe the stuff they piled on me, I was…" and off I went, babbling about all the things that happened since last time I saw him, vaguely aware that I was clinging to him, the sentences spilling out of me in an unending stream, wanting just to tell him everything at once, relishing the feel of his aura, the scent of him, the warmth…

"_Meum mel, meum mel_, slow down…" I felt his hands on my forearm, saw the lines of worry on his face. "I can barely understand a word you're saying… is everything all right?"

I let out a sigh.

"Sorry." I said sheepishly. "I didn't mean to jump at you like that, I'm just…"

"You need a break." His sharp glance at my desk, around the room and then back at me took in the piles of paperwork, the samples of cloth and leather and metal on top of it, the five mugs lined up on the desk's corner with dried-in coffee, the cot covered with my cloak in the corner... "You need some food. " He sniffed. "And no offense, but you need a bath."

"Gods!" I was embarrassed, now. Lifting my arm, I looked at the cuffs of my shirt. They were gray. I didn't remember when I changed last time: no wonder Kana liked to keep to the other side of my desk. "I sure do…and a change. Eww." It was one thing to stink to high heavens from sweat and dried blood when out on a campaign tracking orcs, like we did when I met him at Old Owl Well; it was completely different to smell like _that_ when doing desk duty in the middle of Castle Never as a newly minted Captain of Crossroad Keep. Double eww.

"You come back to the Flagon with me." he ordered; his voice allowed no objection. "Have a meal, clean up, calm down a bit. I shall leave a word here. After that, we will see about those Yule presents of yours from me you keep forgetting to actually get, too." he added, tone considerably warmer. "Brother Colm is ready to see you this afternoon to take your measurements for that new armor."

I blushed. While I gave him both of his presents at Duncan's dinner, he insisted that he only tells me about my practical gift and kept the nature of my other one to himself. He found a production slot for me with Brother Colm, the chapterhouse armorer, to finally have a full suit of custom-made armor. This was the second set he gifted to me, but I didn't mind. While the first one was really nice, it wasn't made for me but modified from an existing set. This one, though… I almost skipped with joy as we left the building, clasping my cloak around my neck to ward off the cold winds. Ballard was making the first group of new recruits to do pushups and have them run circles around the training field; no question about the fact that he took this seriously. Weatherly and Guff supported him enthusiastically and loudly. They spotted the two of us coming out of the barracks, too: I watched them stiffen into attention and salute.

Guff let out a bellow: "Atten-hun, yer sorry sons o' bitches, for Torm's sake!" and before I could say anything, the whole bunch was staring at us, sweaty-faced youngsters and grizzled old-timers alike.

"C'mon, you lazy-arses, show the Captain and the Commander what we learned today!" Ballard commanded, and the whole unit snapped into parade rest in unison.

"Very impressive." I said, slightly embarrassed. I was secretly glad I didn't hold Casavir's hand when they spotted us. "Well, as you were, Captain Ballard. Carry on." I said blithely, hopefully with some dignity as befitting my new status.

"Yes, ma'am!" He and his two sergeants cut out another smart salute (I was already getting tired of it, and my name was barely dry on that charter), then Ballard turned back to the troops and said, with a feral grin:

"Get on with it, girls... but with the song this time. Step lively!"

As we hurried towards the gates, I could hear their singing take up, first disjointed, then stronger and clearer, as they picked up the melody:

Grief and pain are all I know

My heart is sore, my tears a'flow.

We saw him go, how would we know

No word we know of him a'home.

'Sé mo laoch, mo Ghile Mear

'Sé mo Chaesar Gile Mear

Suan nà séan ní bhfuaireas féin

Ó chuaigh i gcéin mo Ghile Mear.

A proud and gallant chevalier

A highborn skald of gentle mien

A fiery blade engaged to lead

He'll break the bravest in the field.

Come sing his praise, as sweet harps play

And proudly toast his noble fame.

With spirit and with mind aflame

So wish him strength and length of day.

'Sé mo laoch, mo Ghile Mear

'Sé mo Chaesar Gile Mear

Suan nà séan ní bhfuaireas féin

Ó chuaigh i gcéin mo Ghile Mear.

"Nice song." I remarked. It was, too: the melody simple and soaring, the words stirring and sad at the same time. It brought back the memories when Casavir and I walked in another military camp back in the Sword Mountains. First time I heard the tune it was one of the soldiers whistling it near Callum's headquarters at Old Owl Well. "Is that one from the Luskan wars, I wonder?"

"Oh, gods." Casavir's voice was exasperated; as I glanced at him I could see his cheeks were blushing. "I didn't think they'd remember it, less that Ballard would teach it to your recruits." he muttered under his breath.

"Beg pardon?" I narrowed my eyes. "You need to explain that, you do realize."

"Yes…" he said slowly; he buried his face in his hands for a moment, then continued. "That song…you see, when I left Neverwinter's service, I didn't realize that those soldiers I've commanded at Old Owl Well as Callum's adjutant cared for me as much as they did. During my years in the Sword Mountains I started to hear some traveling bards sing this song…then I got back to Old Owl Well and a couple of my old soldiers joined up the farmers and other outcasts that started out my forces. They told me that…they wrote that song after I left, to remember me by."

"Waittabit." I said, the words rushing out of me together. "Are you… are you saying that song's about _you_?"

"I am afraid so." He looked at me with an almost panicked expression in his eyes.

"A veritable folk hero, hm?" When I was finally able to speak, I was proud of the fact that sounded quite neutral. I shook my head. "Just when I think I have you all figured out, Korranos, there you go and surprise me again with yet another aspect of your past I had no idea about."

"I am sorry, my lady." He really wanted to get away from that singing; the pace he dictated was rather lively. "I realize that a longer conversation would probably be in order, and so… that's what my other gift to you is about."

_A highborn skald of gentle mien…_ I stifled a groan. Yep, that was him, all right.

"And I don't suppose you tell me about the precise nature of that other gift just yet?" I asked, understanding that he wished to change the subject in a way that didn't offend.

_A proud and gallant chevalier…_Indeed.

"All in good time, my lady." His voice was back to almost-normal. "Patience is a virtue that shall be cultivated if one wants to be a holy warrior; I trust your teacher told you that." I almost snapped at him to stop lecturing me in that manner, when I caught that almost imperceptible wink he directed at me, and I felt my insides melt.

"Smartass." I said fondly and I linked my arm in his. I tried not to laugh. This whole situation was too bizarre. "I'm not smacking you around for that remark just because this is a public place."

"And I am _not_ doing the same for the exact same reason." His brows drew down slightly. "It's a long distance run, not a sprint, my lady...you can't do everything at once. And by yourself."

"Which is why I got Ballard do the recruit training and Kana the supply chain management." I said, somewhat irritated: hat remark cut a little bit too close to home. "Look, I'm not saying you're not right. But I came to my senses just in time, so cut me some slack please." I looked at him and wrinkled my nose. "Now if I could figure out accounting..."

"Hm." His hand covered mine, squeezed my fingers. We turned on to the bridge: the winter sun was still up high, but the air was chilly. "If I had 'cut you some slack' as you so charmingly put it, _meum mel_, I wouldn't be true to either of us." He lifted a finger. "I am, however, willing to be satisfied with one warning and change the subject."

"Most generous, my lord." I murmured, my irritation ebbing away as the warmth of his fingers seeped through his gloves. In truth, I wouldn't have minded if he kept chiding me, as long as I could listen to his voice. And besides, he was mostly right, and I'd have much rather taken that from him than keeping me again at that careful distance he did for such a long time. I couldn't however, just simply let it slide that fast. "Now I just have to figure out what _'mo ghile mear'_ means in that charming High Sword Mountains language..." I tapped my chin. "Maybe I'll ask Ballard tomorrow... but maybe I just ask you what it means."

"Cruelty does not fit a paladin." Casavir said with teeth clenched.

"Ah, now he calls me cruel." I made a face, the shrugged. "Well, you already called me what, _La Belle Dame Sans Merci_ once... maybe I'll take that as my tongue-in-cheek motto on that coat-of-arms Grayson keeps pestering me about, since I'm a squire now."

"Indeed." he murmured, casting a sideways glance at me. "I see I can't shame you into abandoning the subject..."

"Paladins; direct questions?" I reminded him gently. "So?" _I missed this; I missed this dearly_, I had to realize as I leaned closer and breathed a gentle kiss on his cheek. _I missed him. _"Your secret will be safe with me."

"A relief, that." It sounded like a capitulation. "Very well._'Mo ghile mear'_ means, loosely translated 'gallant darling'. They named me that when um... when I first arrived to the garrison. I was eighteen, clean-shaven, full of ideals and unbearably courteous, like some lady, at least in their eyes."

"Yikes." I said, sympathizing. "I can relate: when I got to the Watch the first time..." I winced at the memory; some of the names the more hardened members of the Watch called me for quite a while took some time to get used to. "Let's just say your soldiers terming you 'pretty boy' were kind to you."

"We all have to prove ourselves, sooner or later, yes." He nodded. "But enough of sad memories of the past, _meum mel,_ please." With considerable ease, he circled back to an earlier remark of mine. "Now, about accounting...did you consider taking some lessons in that?" The grace with which he performed these verbal feats was born, no doubt, from countless conversations during balls, hunts and whatnots. I clearly was outclassed here, so I resigned myself to just follow and not to miss any steps. And maybe learn.

"Beg pardon?" I said. "Lessons from whom?"

He shrugged.

"Oh, I am sure someone could find a suitable tutor. If you care to ask your knight, Sir Grayson…or even Nevalle might have a name for you. While noblemen mostly learn to fight and be courtiers, noblewomen need to acquaint themselves with estate management and accounting rather early on so they can manage the household."

I remembered our conversation in the Moonstone Mask about duties of noble ladies, banquet planning and such and sighed.

"Yeah, I remember…" I slowed my steps as a thought occurred to me. "Why did you suggest Nevalle, anyway?"

"You ought to meet his mother. You will understand." He said cryptically, and wasn't willing to discuss it any further. I was just fine with that: I figured I'll tackle that problem soon, now that the training issue was solved for the time being. I remembered well what Nasher told Nevalle when I've received my promotion, and I sort of already suspected he was working on finding me someone. In fact, I had a suspicion about who that might be, but decided not to voice that suspicion just yet.

"Fine, be that way." I muttered when no amount of coaxing resulted in any further information. "But be prepared for payback time."

"Oh; are you going to tell me you will try and beat me at practice in the morning again?" He raised an eyebrow. "After you left me to handle Shandra's training for weeks?"

"Couldn't have been that hard." I shot back, shrugging. "Is your stamina declining, my lord? Or maybe it's the practice of the virtue of patience you so readily chastised me about earlier that you need..."  
"Hush, now." he said sternly. "I am sure I can find some suitably long stories about my years at Old Owl Well with which to regale you, my lady if..."

"Fine fine, you win!" I threw up my hands in mock surrender. "If you really do that, I swear I start screaming right in the middle of the street."

"And that would clearly bring out the Watch to investigate." He nodded thoughtfully. "It seems that indeed, I have the upper hand in this."

"Hardly." I muttered under my breath. "I am just letting you win this time. Those three words could sentence anyone to silence."

"You really just can't have someone else have the last word, can you?" he said, only half jesting. "You do realize that this might cause problems later?"

I sighed.

"I am starting to realize that... but thanks for the reminder." He was right. If I wanted to get anywhere in my new position in Neverwinter, and in his life as well... _best to learn some skills in when to shut up, and fast, _my human side suggested gently.

"Tell you what, though…" I said, a sudden impulse overtaking me. I haven't felt this since back at home in West Harbor, and decided to give in to it. "Race you to the Flagon?"

Now it was his turn to look at me like I've just lost my mind.

"I am sorry?"

"I said: race you to the Flagon?" I swept my hand across the wide street of the Merchant Quarter's middle. "We've walked this route long enough to be able to do it." I felt my face almost split as I grinned. "And you rescued me from working myself to death. I need to stretch my muscles. Last one in will give whatever the winner claims as a reward."

With that, I took off at a sprint. At this point of the early afternoon, what with the cold, there weren't too many people out there on the streets, and since I wasn't wearing armor, dodging the few passersby wasn't that hard. I felt the wind scouring my cheeks red, my cloak billowing behind me as I ran, my boots clacking on the cobblestones…I felt alive like I haven't in the past weeks. And yes, he was following me; I could hear his boots on the stones as well, and once I caught a hasty apology as he failed to dodge the same fat merchant I just avoided a breath earlier…

I barely beat him through the Flagon's door. I had to lean against the wall and catch my breath for a while, holding my hand up forestalling Duncan's inevitable question as he hurried over to check on me.

"I'm...fine, Uncle." I panted, grinning. I squinted up at him, bending over and clutching at my knees. "Really. We just...raced a bit."

"Raced." Duncan shook his head slowly, wiping his hands on a clean towel tucked in his apron. "Two paladins of Tyr, running through the quarter... I wish I'd have been there to see that, lass." He looked at me uneasily, his eyes darting away when my eyes finally met his. "You all right? Looks like you've had some rough days."

"And some." I caught my breath, finally and straightened. "I'd give you a hug, Uncle, but I stink. You mind if I use the showers?"

"Whatever you need, lass, whatever you need." Suddenly it dawned on me why he might be just a bit skittish. The way I had my belongings taken out of his place, not even coming myself, after he gave me my mother's letters to read…

"Uncle, all is well." I squeezed his shoulder. "Really, it is. I meant to come around earlier to tell you, but, well... shame on me but I was busy enough that finding an excuse in that wasn't a big stretch." I made a face. "Saying that I chickened out after reading my mother's letters would be distinctly unpaladin-like; nevertheless, it's the truth I am obliged to give."

"It's all right, lass." He patted my hand, looking relieved. "I'd say I feel the same way, so let's talk about it when you feel like it's time. Maybe we both need a drink with that conversation, too."

"I'd think so, yes." I nodded. "And I also think it can wait until I made that trip to West Harbor and talked to Daeghun."

"Now for that I wish I could be there." His face twisted to a sad smile for a second then made a shooing motion with his dishtowel. "And now away with you; I'd say I enjoyed the conversation, but you do need that shower, truth to tell."

"Yeah, I know." I muttered. "If one more person elaborates on the way I stink..." I glanced at Casavir who stood there with absolutely no expression on his face. "I'll be as fast as I can... oh crap, Duncan, do you think Shandra would mind if I borrowed some of her clothes? I have all mine back at the castle..." Of all my female companions, only Shandra was similar to me in figure—but even her clothes would be short.

"Well, why don't you ask her?" Duncan waved towards the corner where Shandra sat with Grobnar: they were performing _The Amnian Handkerchief_ to Duncan's afternoon clientele. It was one of those sad and ghostly ballads I always hated and Amie so loved, and, apparently, Duncan's crowd preferred them as well.

_A fine Amnian handkerchief she then took out  
And with it wrapped his aching head about  
She kissed his lips and to him did say  
My love you are colder than any clay._

"You just know that it won't end well after that, right?" Casavir looked back with a polite but questioning look as if he had no idea what I was talking about. "You _do_ know this one, right?" He shook his head. "Gods, man, you _did_ live an isolated life." I said exasperated. "That one is so famous even we knew it in the swamps." _Bluebloods, really_.

I waited a bit until Grobnar got to a solo part and sneaked in behind them to lean over to Shandra's ears and ask her.

"But of course, Rig." she smiled at me, relief in her eyes that I showed up at last. "Here is the key... take whatever you need. There's also some soap in there."

"Thanks, Shan; nothing fancy… we are going to visit the armorsmith at the chapterhouse." I grinned. "I am getting my Yule present at last."

"Ooh." Shandra said appreciatively. "Armor as a gift... Must be true love, then."

"Shut up, you." I said quickly and smacked the back of her head gently. "I'll be going now." But a smile remained on my face and I even skipped once or twice as I made my way down the corridor leading to the room in the back where Duncan and now Shandra lived. I made quick work of grabbing some clothes out of her chest, a towel and a sliver of lavender-scented soap, then proceeded to the women's showers where I enjoyed some scalding hot water coming out of the happily gurgling pipes. Judging by the way the water in the drains turned gray, I really was rather filthy. I was mortified, but made a silent vow that apart from serious traveling or hard fights, I'll never get that way again. Forgetting myself like that steered perilously close to that self-mortification issue Casavir obviously had in him—I had no inclination to strengthen it in me when he already had it in abundance.

I was still braiding my wet hair as I ran down the stairs, hoping I didn't take too much time. I was also famished—so I was glad to see Duncan putting some bread, honey and cheese on a corner table.

"Thanks, Uncle." I smiled at him and blinked a bit sheepishly at Casavir, sitting comfortably in the corner with his long legs stretched out, sipping on a steaming mug of coffee. "I hope I wasn't too long..."

"Not longer than expected." Yep, Tyrran honesty. I sighed happily, and applied myself to the food.

"I took the liberty of telling your uncle, my lady, not to serve anything too heavy." He spread a napkin in his lap and speared a slice of cheese on his eating knife. "I, erm, have something planned for dinnertime, and..."

"Ooh." I said; my mouth was full. I swallowed.. "You mean my second Yule present is connected to food?" He nodded. "And I am still not allowed to know more about it, right?" Another nod; the man never talked while eating. Aristocrats. "You do realize I'll keep pestering you about it, right?" Still merely a nod, expression pleasant but neutral. I gritted my teeth. "Did anyone tell you that you were insufferable, Korranos?"

And _still_ nothing but a nod.

I gave up, made a face at him and returned to my lunch. The cheese was hard, the bread crumbly, the honey sweet, and the coffee hot. M-hm. What else can a girl need? _Why, whatever he was keeping from me as my second Yule present, of course, _my human side giggled, not at all helpfully.

By the time I finished, the taproom started to fill with guests. I didn't much care for polite chitchat which would have been inevitable once the regulars started to arrive, so I suggested leaving while the going was still good. We ducked some sailors on shore leave now that most of the tall ships rested in their berths for winter, a couple of merchants who clearly got stuck in the city and didn't like it, and said goodbye to Duncan.

"Need to talk to you sometime soon." he said as he carefully stretched out to give me a peck on the cheek. "I got a business proposal for you."

"Sure, Uncle." I said politely. I was wondering what kind of proposal he might have had: an innkeeper to the paladin, but I've learned not to judge without knowing facts all too well. "How about I come by tomorrow evening?"

"That would do." He looked me over and grinned. "Stay warm, lass."

"Will try my best. " I muttered, drawing my cloak closer against my body. Shandra was… chestier and less hippy than I, and that, coupled with the height difference and me spending a lot of time carrying full plate armor resulted in a relatively comfortable fit that was only snug in some strategic places. The outfit was made of warm wool and the shirt had just a touch of lace at the throat, so I was happy.

And even happier I was with the rest of the afternoon, spent in the warm, roomy workshop of Brother Colm at the chapterhouse. I've only met him once before, when I thanked him for my current set of armor that he modified for me from an existing one. This time, I submitted myself to one of his apprentices, a girl with wiry muscles and almost-white, close-cropped hair, who took me aside and meticulously and almost reverently took all my measurements, in even more detail than Hassim's old crone for my dress for the trial. She measured me in places I never thought to be measured; but, as she explained, this was absolutely necessary for properly fitting certain pieces of the armor. She was good: I only wanted to smack her once.

I'd have loved to spend more time there. Brother Colm radiated calmness and joy from the simple fact alone that he loved his work and took pride in what he created. He had a gentle voice, and used big expansive hand gestures as he explained some of the techniques he used to join sacred magic and steel. Most of his talk went straight over my head but I knew that Khelgar probably would have loved it, and I suggested to Brother Colm that if he needs some help in his workshop, I knew just the right person amongst the novices over under Abbot Conn's care.

"That would be an honor." Colm smoothed down his soft mustache. "A member of the famous Clan Ironfist, skilled in metalwork, helping my humble endeavors…"

"As usual, you are too modest, Brother." Casavir interjected warmly. "In Waterdeep, they would demand your services to Lord Piergeiron himself for sure." I opened my eyes wide: he was just about the last person who'd have been prone to exaggeration or fawning, so I had to take him by his word. Colm blushed and muttered something about the High Inquisitor visiting him a few weeks back to talk about some commission or other.

"I told you." Casavir nodded. "I am more than grateful that you could find the time for us, then."

"So…you'll seek out Khelgar Ironfist, Brother? Ask permission from the Abbot for him to work with you?" I hoped he'd succeed; however much I wanted Khelgar to continue on the path he's chosen, I also knew he probably missed working with metal and anvil.

"Aye, I will. Maybe even on your armor, Sister." The armorsmith nodded, thoughtful. "I have the feeling I'll need some help with this one—it will be special." With a gleam in his eyes, he bent over his workbench strewn with samples of metal, various pots of spell ingredients, parchments with sacred texts and old books. "I'll start on the sketches tonight." He fingered the spine of a well-used tome. "If you don't mind, Sister…" he started, hesitantly, as if afraid to ask. "The…marks around your eyes are rather similar to some of the invocations I used from this book I was working with and…Can I…?"

I put out a hand to steady myself on the corner of his bench; the world spun out of focus just a little.

"You... have something that has my marks in it?" I stuttered. Casavir looked at me sharply."I...yes, sure, Brother." I never had time to track down Oleff and his angelology tomes we talked about with Sand just before my trial. The last thing I expected was to have the opportunity to research the meaning of my celestial marks in the Order's smithy.

My heart pounding, I watched as Brother Colm leafed through the pages of the old manuscript, inked in black and blue. Casavir laid a hand on my shoulder, looking at me questioningly.

"Are you...all right with this, my lady?" he asked with a slight frown of worry on his face. "I know you wished to know, but..." He stopped, considered what he wanted to say next carefully. "Do you wish me to leave?"

"Gods, no." I blurted out, grabbing for his hand. "If it... if it's there, I want you to know it, too."

He nodded, his azure gaze not leaving mine, and his grip tightened on my fingers.

"The Reverend Judge was kind enough to lend this to me, so I have to very careful with it." Colm explained. He seemed to be oblivious to my discomfort as he turned the pages slowly and carefully. "I find it useful when I work on the warding of the armor I build. Some of the brothers have specific requests, and then there are the special missions...oh-ho. That's what I thought." He smiled and tapped the page he just turned to. I felt my stomach clench. "Why, that's interesting."

"What?" Casavir said tersely, leaning closer. I've never heard him being that rude; I had to blink.

"Here it is, I believe." Colm turned the tome towards me and squinted. "Yes. Hmm. Well, in case you were wondering..." There was a slight disappointment in his voice, as if he expected something else. "It's a simple one; I used it, in fact, at least once on an enchanted set of plates for the Prior himself. Or I should say a modified version of it; the one you're wearing, Sister, is subtly different. What the meaning of the difference is, of course, I do not know...you might have to ask the Reverend Judge himself." He noticed that both of us were glaring at him, and blushed. "Oh. Sorry, Sister, Brother...I tend to blather on, I don't have many to talk about this with. It's one of the Old Thorass runes for our god, with added possessive that would signify that the marked belongs to the Even-Handed. At least the one in the book means that. Like I said, your marks are a bit different." He shrugged, almost apologetically. "Not sure what you expected, Sister, but..."

I swallowed.

"I... appreciate it, Brother. "I found it a bit absurd, if not exactly funny, that I had to learn the meaning of my marks while being measured for my new armor, almost casually. But the whole situation was slightly surreal to begin with. I still couldn't quite comprehend what was happening to me. "So: it basically says "Tyr's"?

"Actually, let me see..." He frowned, his gray eyes intent on my face. "If I get this extension right here... hmmm... that would be the personal possessive as opposed to the third person, Old Thorass was weird that way." He was an armorsmith and a linguist of ancient tongues. Oghma help me.

"Our Lord indeed marked you to His service." He shook his head reverently."Instead of 'Tyr's', I would say it's more like 'Mine', Sister."


	54. Be Still, My Heart

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

_**Please do forgive the long hiatus again: chalk it up to an overactive now-eight-month old and, lately, my serious Dragon Age: Origins obsession. I hope I can return to a saner update schedule, say, monthly or so from now on. Here's hoping!**_

**I write to music; this chapter's mood was set by two pieces from David Newman's **_**Serenity**_** soundtrack: **_**Prep For Flight**_** and **_**Love**_**, and Vangelis' **_**Losing Sleep (Be Still My Heart**_**) from the album **_**Voices.**_

**I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… I take full responsibility for that Pendwyr girl, though... **

**Chapter Fifty-Four: Be Still, My Heart**

"Will you walk with me?" I asked Casavir as we left the Halls of Justice in a rather hurried fashion, thanking Brother Colm for his time and receiving promises from him that the set of armor will be ready before we had to depart for my new home.

My head was spinning. I lifted my face to feel the north wind, blessedly cold and biting on my hot cheeks. I welcomed its freezing bites; it helped to clear my head and keep my thoughts on a path I actually dared to follow.

"I need to do some walking and talking. My old beat?" I looked at him sideways, his profile sharply delineated by the light cast by the ever-burning lamps at the Halls' entrance. "I know you planned my second Yule present for me… but I need some air."

He nodded, his eyes full of concern.

"Of course, my lady. Lead on?" He offered his hand, and we set out at a comfortable pace. My heartbeat actually slowed down as we progressed, and it was fortunate that as the weather turned even more hostile, a lot of the inhabitants of the Merchant Quarter decided not to venture out. It was getting dark, anyway, and the colorful lamps filled with oil or with ever-lasting magic lights sparkled all over the archways of the houses and shops.

The cobblestones felt familiar under my boots; we retraced the route I had to tread every day as my beat when still in the Watch. I relished the experience: something told me I wouldn't have the opportunity to walk like this anytime soon… and once the roads thawed and I departed for Crossroad Keep, the chances became even smaller. I was also, again, immensely grateful that he didn't say anything—we still were able to be comfortable in silence.

After a while, I started to talk. Hesitantly at first, but more and more fluently, I told Casavir about my mother's letters, about the past weeks spent trying not to dwell on those too much, about attempting to reconcile my two sides, the new role I found myself, the misguided decision to shut myself off completely from the very persons I was working towards to provide for…and especially from him. How I was still not able to fully accept that I was human and had needs. How I understood him now more, his struggles with his feelings, his sleepless nights, hells, even his cold showers I could see in a whole new light. And the realization that this was an opportunity to create something for all of us, that I could become more than a frontline smasher, as he called it, who might be dead before her thirtieth birthday with nothing but the memory of battles and kills to her name.

"And I missed you. Gods know I did." I finished, as we neared the Wywern bridge. There was a distant thunder, and the air felt cold and damp with winter rain. "I wanted to send a message for you to come and help me so many times I lost count. It's just... all confusing. It still is." I paused: I felt the dark clouds of unhappiness settling over me, and I desperately wished to shake them off before they ruined our time together. "And to top it all, having to learn the meaning of my marks from the armorsmith of the chapterhouse during casual conversation about steel hardening and protective spells tends to um, put a damper on the evening?"

His deep chuckle startled me; he stopped and pulled me towards him so quickly that I stumbled a bit, straight into his arms. I was taken aback for a second by his forwardness, then I remembered that it was I who handed him the reins back in the Flagon on Yule's Eve, and I relaxed.

"Aye, that's true." he rumbled and I felt my pulse quicken as he leaned closer. "You always had a rather unique way with words, my lady."

"Well, I _am_ from West Harbor, after all." I grumbled, nesting myself comfortably against him, not much caring about anybody seeing us at that moment. The wind was cold, and I could use the warmth. We stood under the archways of one of the guildhouses that faced the river at the edge of the Merchant Quarter; dusk was settling in, and apart from the occasional cry of the seagulls, the area was quiet. I brushed my lips against his, feather-light, and smiled. "And we're also rather forward, we Harbormen, so there."

"I hoped so." he deadpanned, and I couldn't help but burst out laughing, burying my face in the crook of his neck, almost bursting with happiness that we were together again. His scent filled my nostrils: a complex mixture of incense, leather, metal, soap and underneath it all, his skin… I felt slightly intoxicated after such a long absence, and it made me bolder than usual in public.

"Well, good." I exhaled, still grinning, and proceeded to make it so for the next few minutes neither of us had any chance to speak. However much I allowed him the reins, there were certain privileges I intended to retain…and, truth to tell, he wasn't complaining. Far from it; from the way his arms held me tight against him, I knew he was missing me just as much as I did.

Rain, sure destroyer of all things nice, has arrived promptly. The brooding clouds, obscuring the evening sky rather fast doused us with an almost-freezing downpour, heavy enough that we jumped apart as if Elanee had knocked on my door again. I looked around for shelter, but too late: my hair and my clothing all soaked through. I could only laugh helplessly and clutch at Casavir again.

"I guess it doesn't matter, now!" I shouted over the thunder that broke over us again, and tugged his head down, framing his face between my gloved hands. The water tasted sweet on his skin, and I drank it in with his kisses, not caring that anyone could see us, or that my cloak got heavy with moisture and my hair was sticking to my head, coming undone from its tightly coiled bun under its own weight.

He finally tore himself from me, grabbing my hand and tugging me into a stumbling run across the bridge.

"Follow me, my lady!" He sounded almost carefree; my heart grew light and almost skipped a beat hearing the pure joy in his voice. "Shelter awaits!" The rest got lost in another clap of thunder.

I was sure we presented a rather spectacular sight to the Watchmen at the head of the bridge by the lampposts: from their stiff salute and the glint of their eye under their heavy oilskin hoods I could just feel the curious recognition, and I knew there would be some talk at the headquarters at the end of the night shift, but what can I say? I didn't much care at that moment, even though I suspected there weren't many members of nobility caught in such distinct lack of decorum, and I could also have sworn no members of our Order ever ran practically laughing out loud across the bridge, boots splattering in the rapidly gathering puddles. A faint whiff of remorse coursed though me, but I shook it off quickly. I really, really needed some distraction from the daily chores I engaged in lately, and I suspected Casavir wasn't merely sitting in my uncle's taproom all this time either.

"Wait!" I called ahead, still half-laughing, lifting the hem of my sodden cloak so it doesn't drag behind me on the wet stones. "Wait! Where do we…?" But my question died on my lips as he slowed down in front of the familiar façade of an impressive stone mansion. He fished in his belt pouch for a key to open the side door carved above the frame with a coat-of-arms I never had the chance to look at in broad daylight so far.

"Oh. Your…your house?" I stumbled over the words, and he turned on the doorstep, smile slowly fading from his lips. I saw it, and quickly stepped closer, linking my arm into his. I didn't want him to think I hesitated to enter or I didn't like it, even though I had broken out in cold sweat about the mere thought of being called this monster of a house's mistress eventually.

"A _fabulous_ idea." I said, with emphasis. "Thank you…really." I tugged on his arm, as a mild reminder. "Casavir? Not that I don't mind standing this close to you forever, but you said something about shelter? It's true that my hair can't get any wetter, but do you really want to hear details about _where_ rain is dripping right now under my clothes?"

"Ah. Yes." He shook himself, with that sheepish grin appearing faintly in the corner of his mouth. "I apologize, my lady. For a second I thought you…"

"For the gods' sake, man, no, I don't mind spending some time with you in your ancestral home!" I'm afraid I raised my voice a bit. "It gives me the creeps, but it's _yours_… so I just have to take it and learn to like it, right?" _And there I did it again_…My celestial side shook its head gently, while my human side snickered almost audibly at this mix of West Harbor crude frankness and Tyrran inability to lie.

"I see." he said drily, and his mouth twitched. "I guess, then, I just have to see to it so that it doesn't 'give you the creeps'." Apart from that twitch, his face remained unreadable as he held the door for me. "After you, my lady?"

I ducked his arm and slipped through, into the courtyard, which was in a considerably better shape than last time I saw it. The weeds creeping through the paving stones were gone: I was able to see quite clearly as there were about half-dozen lamps hanging from the walls of the courtyard, casting warm, flickering light.

"Whoa." I said, lifting a hand, fully aware of just how not lady-like I sounded there. "What's going on here?"

"Your Yule present?" Casavir said quietly by my ear. "May we...?" The rain was still pouring, soaking us both, but he seemed entirely undisturbed as he extended an arm with impeccable courtesy.

"All...right..." I said tentatively. "You lead, right?"

"Precisely." He nodded, and steered me towards the entrance with considerable speed. "Once we are in a somewhat dry place, you can ask all those questions I know are just about to burst out of you."

"Hey!" I felt my cheeks redden. "Am I really that transparent?"

"Let's just say, due to some connections between the two of us, I can read you somewhat better than others." He paused in the vestibule, tiled his head to one side as if something just occurred to him and added. "In case it causes you discomfort, my lady, I doubt others can."

"Be still, my heart." I murmured, still a bit ruffled; but I let him lead me up the stairs, only noticing in passing that all the white covers were gone from paintings and furniture alike, and there was considerably less dust than during our previous visit. Either someone had gone through with an inventive application of some Wind spells, or we were not alone in the mansion—and that made me a little wary. I was dripping puddles of water on the marble and the Calimshan rugs, after all. "Um... Casavir, not to be nosy and all, but are you opening the place up?"

"Something like that." he said, with that well-known nervous hand gesture again: raking his fingers through his hair.

"I see; this is one of those questions again that I need to keep until..." I stopped in mid-sentence as we entered one of the rooms upstairs he steered me towards. The fire was merrily cracking in the fireplace, and there was a low table laden with dishes holding finger foods, including lovely flaky crescent -shaped pastries, a bowl with what definitely looked like truffles and...

"Are those strawberries?" My voice sounded ridiculously high and thin, like a little girl's. "Really? But how...?"

"I was um... reminded by a certain monk-in-training..." Casavir stopped next to the table and looked at me, with a small, crooked smile on his lips, "that you happened to have a definite fondness for these...and that you don't indulge yourself very often. And also, that getting a set of armor for you for Yule might be a bit...redundant after I already gifted you one earlier." He took a deep breath. "Therefore: this. I didn't count on the rain though."

"I don't think you could have, unless you have some weather-mage connections." I murmured, peeling my cloak off my shoulders. Carefully spreading it on a chair, I stepped closer to the warmth of the fireplace, drawn irresistibly by the heat the stone preserved. "Do you?"

"_You_ might, actually." He said, watching me settling in front of the fire with my knees drawn up and hands rubbed together. "I mean those Cloaktower mages we worked with, my lady." He explained, seeing my uncomprehending gaze. "I am sure at least one of them in Vale's group had that specialty; the lightning bolts flew a bit too freely at the door of Crossroad Keep to be otherwise."

"You're right…" I shuddered, as the memories surfaced. "Although I really would like to forget that day. At least until it's time to go to West Harbor."

_That basement cell…the smell roiling out as Neeshka picks the lock and throws the door open, the unmistakable stench of rotting flesh and human waste…_

_Not today…_My celestial side pulled forward; I could almost feel the white wings unfurling around me protectively. _Not now…_ My mental shields clicked into place almost audibly, and, just like that, the memory was gone.

"Sorry." I became aware that my face was pulled into a pained grimace and schooled my features back into something more relaxed. "Just some unpleasant memories."

"I understand." Casavir said quietly. "I have tried to forget them, too." His hand trailed along the edge of the ornate chess table set alongside the sideboard. "I find that if I occupy my mind with something that involves strategic thinking, it helps. You had plenty to do since we've returned from that assignment; this would be, for all intents and purposes, the first opportunity to assess what exactly happened there and how." He looked up at me. "Do you play chess, my lady?"

I nodded, grateful for the distraction.

"I used to play on evenings like this way too much; both my foster-father and Aevan said it aided thinking and strategic decision-making." My hair was utterly soaked though; I yanked out the ribbon holding it together and unbraided the whole thing quickly before, I knew from experience, it dried into a tangled mess that was a nightmare to uncomb later. "Not saying I was any good at it, mind you, so there's a great chance you actually would win this one if we played." I flashed a half-nervous grin at him. "Kindly notice that I gave up a huge tactical advantage by admitting that, so be nice."

"I _am_ nice." he said with a serious face, finally shaking off his cloak and hanging it from another chair by the fire. "As a return favor, I shall point out that I won the chapterhouse chess tournament for, I believe, five years in a row back in the days." He tilted his head on one side. "Perhaps it wouldn't be the best of ideas to make this a competition match."

"Checkmate, then." I shrugged, pleased by the subtle offering of a game, and the way he issued that challenge. I was aware that yet again, he was giving me a lesson in how to behave in high society, and, truth to tell, I started to miss these, hard as it was to admit.

So I made a little pout and looked up at him.

"Look, this is as far as my courtly skills go, really; I am a passable chess player, but I don't play any other games. Neeshka tried to teach me how to play dice and cards, but I just couldn't find the reason to. I don't play any instruments, I don't even sing except at service and the usual invocations." I thought about that for a second, remembered some nights at the West Harbor alehouse and a couple of instances when Amie dared me, blushed slightly and amended. "At least not any more." I sighed. "'Fun' as such was not exactly a word a foster child of Daeghun Farlong learned early. If it wasn't for Amie and Bevil, I would even have thought about hide-and-seek as something of an utter waste of time. I am boring."

He chuckled.

"Boring would be the last word I'd use in connection with you, _meum mel_." He lifted a finger. "No, please don't say anything… I am curious to see how long this will last. Me, being outspoken and without restraints, and you being reserved and…um… exceedingly breathtaking."

I stared at him. The change in both of us would have been, I became increasingly more convinced, blatantly obvious to anyone. Somehow, though, I didn't care. Or, rather, I hoped that we could keep these still-fragile and precious moments to ourselves and can carry on with our everyday life just as if we always did.

"Oh my goodness gracious!" I heard someone exclaim from the doorstep. "This just won't do, milord, just won't do! Bornell, I told you, didn't I? I told you you should check, but…"

"Hush, woman." I heard the distinct mutter with a clipped accent. The stiff, razor-thin man standing next to his portly, apron-clad wife bowed slightly. "Milord will forgive the intrusion…just wanted to see if you needed anything else?"

"The Bornells?" I looked at them, astonished, recognizing them from the Corett mansion. "Sir Grayson's Bornells? How come?"

Casavir cleared his throat.

"Erm…it appears that when word got out that you have received Lord Nasher's commission to govern Crossroad Keep, Sir Grayson was, um, presented with an ultimatum from his housekeeper and his butler here."

"Poor thing can't be let into that big heap of stone without a proper staff." Mrs. Bornell sniffed. "My Bornell and I served the Coretts all our lives… now it's time to lend a hand to his squire. You'll need us, love..." She looked at me and clicked her tongue. "And _especially_ now …look at you, with your clothes all soaked and shivering there in front of the fire!" She grabbed my hand and with a surprisingly strong pull got me on my feet. "Up, my lamb, up! Let's get you out of this soggy mess."

I was still slightly dazed from the news that my knight's two most trusted city staff decided to come with me to Crossroad Keep, and that, in the meantime, they apparently applied themselves to reopening the Korranos house… so I didn't resist much as Mrs. Bornell led me out of the room and into one of the suites opening from the corridor. I could barely cast a glance at Casavir as he was similarly ushered out by a solemn-faced Bornell, I assumed, to suffer the same fate at his hands as I was almost thrust across a door by Mrs. Bornell.

"There." She announced cheerily as the door clicked shut. "Let me get the towels and a robe for you, love… get those soggy clothes off and at once before you catch your death."

"But I can't…" I started to protest, wanting to say that one of the graces of our god granted to me as a paladin was that I never got sick any more, but the housekeeper already turned from me, busy rooting through a large chest of drawers in the corner of the room, only dimly lit by a single candle on the nightstand next to the huge four-poster bed.

I looked around. The room showed signs of recently being cleaned: some traces of wax polish on the furniture, bed linen so crisp and white it was almost blinding even in the wan candlelight, the scent of lemons and lavender in the air. Mrs. Bornell chatted cheerfully as she draped a deep blue dressing gown over a chair and handed me a towel for my hair and another one to wrap myself into as she directed me towards one of those fancy screens nobles use to hide behind when dressing. She told me how they heard about my assignment from Sir Grayson, and how, after a long argument that stretched into the night, the two of them decided to leave their grown-up children to care for the Corett household and to threw in their lot with me and my merry little band heading out to Crossroad Keep. Why exactly these two wanted to live in a dilapidated castle with barely any roofs and certainly nothing resembling the furniture either in the Corett household or in the Blue Mansion, as she called this one, was still a mystery, but it would have been rude to just bluntly ask, so I elected to set that question aside for the time being. The towels were thick and fluffy, and I shed my soaked garments with an audible sigh. The dressing gown was silk brocade with silver embroidery worked in, looking deceptively light but feeling warm and smooth against my skin. _I could get used to this_, I thought, shamelessly luxuriating in the way it slid around me as I walked out from behind the screen, and, after Mrs. Bornell assured me that she'd take care of my garments and boots, she sent me back to the sitting room.

"And don't forget to eat, love!" she added with a wide smile. "I worked on that dinner of yours too much to have it spoiled."

"Yes, Mrs. Bornell. " I said obediently. "I'm sure I won't forget. I am famished."

Paladins never lie. I closed the door behind me, shaking my head and chuckling. _Really, what was the last time I had to be coaxed into eating? _

The room was empty, the fire cracking merrily, and those strawberries looked mightily inviting… Before I could catch myself, I was standing there next to the table, shoving fruit in my mouth almost without pausing between bites. Wintertime was not exactly famous for an abundance of fruits while growing up in the Mere of Dead Men: this was unimaginable, almost sinful luxury for me. I also couldn't remember any of my meals in the past few weeks—I knew I ate, but all I could recall was hastily gulfed down mouthfuls of something or other, without any recollection of what that actually was. Eating and sleeping were something I did so that my body could function and do all those things necessary for working…Now I had to realize that I was famished, despite the lunch I had at Duncan's.

A light cough from the doorway startled me, almost choking on a piece of fruit.

"I see that we definitely have to work on your table manners." Casavir said with mock chiding in his voice as he looked at me. "If for nothing, I would hate to lose you due to asphyxiation from strawberries."

"I'm so sorry!" I exclaimed. "I just…"

I swallowed as he closed the distance between us and tried not to drop the strawberry in my hand. I kept forgetting just how spectacular he looked without heavy armor or a thick winter doublet and cloak; the fine linen shirt he wore definitely emphasized how wide his shoulders were.

"Erm…Nice lace." I had to say something, and since 'gulp' would have been somehow unseemly for a paladin and Chosen of the Even-Handed, instead I inclined my head towards his shirt cuffs with what I hoped a decent enough smile. "You know, I've never would have thought I'd live to see men wearing lace before I came to Neverwinter." I decided on busying myself for a moment with finding the coffee pot and pouring myself a cup with lots of cream, and also grabbed one of Mrs. Bornell's buttery crescent pastries. It was just as lovely as I remembered.

"I can imagine it wasn't very common in West Harbor. " He reached for a pastry himself; and, although I saw his eating by campfire during our adventures quite a number of times, somehow here, in the sitting-room of his own house, the way he simply bit into the pastry standing next to me, without even a napkin to hold the crumbs, struck me as sweetly, almost sensually, casual. I was sure there was nothing deliberate about it: I knew by now that he tried desperately to relax in my presence, and this was a welcome change from his strict formality at the beginning of our acquaintance.

"Yeah, it would have been great for pigsticking season…" I snorted, thinking about the men gathering around in the darkness of a winter night in Georg's back yard, tossing back small cups of fruit brandy before heading out to the pen where his prize-winning sow was waiting for what was going to be her last sunrise. It would just about have killed them to be seen in what they no doubt thought only women and fops wore, and only in the big city, even.

_Well, no one could accuse this man here being in either of those categories...not even Georg_, it fluttered through my head. Then I caught myself staring at his shoulders again. _I will not start giggling stupidly like a smitten village girl. I will not...I will not..._

"Speaking about West Harbor…" I inhaled sharply as his gaze alighted on me and with a short, sharp headshake as if he was displeased by something he reached out and fanned out my hair on my shoulder. "Did no one teach you how to dry your hair in front of a fire, my lady?"

I swallowed again. The nearness of him, his fingers touching the skin on my neck, made my mouth go dry even now.

"What… what do you mean?" I asked, uncertain. "I normally just let it dry if it got wet, unbound, the way Daeghun advised me; I wasn't aware that there was any other way…"

"Elves." He clicked his tongue. "Didn't even occur to him that your hair is longer, thicker and…well…" The way he run his fingers through the tangles again sent tingles all the way down though my spine. Against my will, I felt myself leaning into his palm, my hands shaking so hard the fine Shouware cup rattled on its saucer.

"Here." I felt him take the cup gently from my hand and put it up on the low table next to us. "I'll show you, if I may?" He raised an eyebrow, noticing the expression on my face and the hint of a wry grin appeared on the corner of his lips. "And I _really_ don't bite."

_I'll be damned,_ I thought as I stared at him, fighting laughter. He was quoting my own words back to me from our evening at the _Mask_.

_Fine, then._

"There are just _so_ many ways to answer that that would make both of us blush. I'm not even going to count." I murmured. "So I am just going to say yes. " I settled myself in front of the fire, wiggling my toes towards the glowing embers. I watched him stretching out his long legs next to me, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him.

_Quick, Arrighan, think about something suitably boring and neutral!_

_Like a bucketful of ice water, maybe? _my human side supplied, with a slight snicker. _Yeah, that would work_.

_I think I would definitely need an entire tub._

"I...have to ask a question." I managed to croak out in a somehow choked voice. I _really_ hoped I could get over this.

"Hmmm?" His hands continued to run through my hair; it was soothing and exhilarating at the same time.

"I sent you that note only around noon today, and you came very shortly afterward directly from the Flagon." I waved my hand towards the table with its array of delicacies, half of which I didn't even have a chance to inspect. "And there's this feast, and your mansion spotless, and the Bornells..."

"I see." He paused for a second, and I pressed my head into his palm, indicating to continue. "Your Tyran mind, _meum mel_...indeed nothing can escape your attention. I understand now those stories they tell about you in the Watch." He didn't complete that thought, but took a deep breath and continued. "However, there's nothing mysterious or magical about this...I made that appointment with Brother Colm for your armor fitting already, remember? I was on my way to the Castle when your messenger showed up. I did plan for this, I must confess, and I was perfectly ready to drag you out from your hiding hole, regardless of what kind of work you claimed you were buried in."

"Ready for battle, eh?" The warm fire, the soft rug underneath me, the silky robe, and, most of all, his nearness and the feel of his hands…I caught myself leaning more against him, torn between my own growing need to get closer, even closer, and the reluctance of having that contact leading to something we might not be able to withstand this time.

"Something like that." He acknowledged. "Sometimes you can be your own worst enemy, _meum mel_, and you know it."

_How is it possible that he knows me so well already_? I asked myself, feeling my eyelids grow heavier by the second.

"Tell me about the right way to dry a lady's hair. " I said quietly. _And I won't even ask how you learned it_.

"No doubt you're wondering how I learned this." he said almost exactly at the same moment.

"Yes." I chose not to elaborate on that; I was really willing just stop thinking about it altogether and just _feel_.

"And I am afraid the answer is rather decidedly un-mysterious. As I told you already, the chapterhouse novices are all housed in the same dormitory; there's no segregation of sexes until one takes full vows. We are all considered Tyr's consecrated; the difference between a man's and a woman's body are taught and known, but as a matter of nature, not something that should be… a secret or something worth dwelling on."

"And it doesn't lead to… discomfort?" I asked, confused a bit. I couldn't help but think about what he told me about Eaydra; however much I decided on not feeling jealous, a small and _very_ human voice inside me kept wondering if he'd ever sat in front of a fire with _her_ like this…

"Why should it?" he asked back. "We are taught to be ready to offer our strength, body and soul, to the Even-Handed. Equally, male and female. And therefore, we are equal in His sight and should not be ashamed. But surely your teacher told you this."

"I am… perhaps glad that he didn't." I answered, feeling my cheeks grow hot. When I had The Talk, it was Retta Starling who told me about birds and bees, and I was greatly relieved that I didn't have to endure Daeghun trying to muddle through it with his usual determinedness to make it through yet another chore related to his foster-daughter. The mere thought of Aevan talking to me about what went on in the dark made me distinctly uncomfortable. "That is…"

"I take it he didn't." Casavir sighed. "Your education is surprisingly uneven, _meum mel_, if I may say so." His voice deepened. "You said he didn't return last spring when he was supposed to? " I nodded. "Would you… would you wish to search for clues in the Halls of Justice, then? I am sure someone would be able to guide you to his whereabouts…?"

"I really should." I frowned as I realized that I should have done this much earlier. After all, Aevan told me he was from the City originally, before choosing the wandering life of an errant paladin of Justice. It was strange…as if every time I decided to do something about it or bring up my mentor to anyone even remotely connected with the Order, the thought just… disappeared. "Would you do me a favor and remind me before we leave the City for Crossroad Keep please? I don't trust my memory lately."

"Sure." He reached out, grabbed the bowl with the strawberries and placed it in my lap. "I saw you still eyeing these." He explained, seeing me looking at him incredulously. "I think you might as well get comfortable and not to think about work and duties for a while, hm?"

The way his eyes sparkled didn't make it any easier to summon chaste thoughts, but the paladin training in self-discipline held, and I decided to just channel my not-so-innocent thoughts into eating instead. I pulled away from him, set the bowl next to me and wiggled a finger at him.

"Not fair, my lord, oh so not fair." I said archly. "Let me even the playing field here. Otherwise I will be at a serious disadvantage when you decide to finally royally beat me at chess." I held up a strawberry. "C'mere."

We fed each other strawberries until the bowl was empty. We continued with small bits of pastries and cheese, although the cold chicken proved to be a bit difficult to eat while the other one was holding it—that one ended up in laughter and hastily grabbed plates and thick cloth napkins from the table. I made a nest of pillows in front of the fire—something I always dreamed of doing while at West Harbor but my life there had never allowed for it, but now somehow I didn't feel ashamed to admit it to Casavir that. We sipped coffee and sweet, honey-colored wine that made me just a bit dizzy and very, very comfortable. We gave up on chess, after about two turns—I told him I was a bad player and he had to reluctantly acknowledge that I was entirely within my rights to say so. We were so not equal in our playing levels, I might as well have been in a different room—heck, in a different house, for that matter, and it wasn't just because of the wine I wasn't accustomed to.

Instead of playing, we talked about little things, completely unrelated to anything serious: me about life in West Harbor mostly, about Georg's tall tales that sometimes sounded like he was sampling some weird mushrooms from the Mere, about Lazlo Buckman and his famous West Harbor mead, about how evenings working at the alehouse usually ended up with one or more of the townspeople playing on some instruments and someone singing, about the way Daeghun had a fondness for cats that occasionally resulted in finding offerings of mice or birds in our slippers in the morning… When it was his turn, the memories he remembered most fondly always had a tinge of sadness, as they involved so many people who were no longer alive. He described the elaborate ways he and Matty devised to escape his parents when little to go and play on their own; how Eaydra's fondness of sticky pastries got them into trouble with the head cook in the Halls of Justice once; his year spent amongst the poorest of Neverwinter as a novice serving as a protector of the Ilmateri mission in the Docks and how seeing an orphan smiling after what ought to have been her first full meal in weeks filled him with a joy he'd never thought simple acts like that would bring; the quiet hours he spent with the lute I gifted him for Yule since then…

It was as if we both knew that this was to be the last quiet time we can dedicate solely for each other in such quiet and comfortable surroundings for a long, long time to come; as if we both decided to see if we felt the same towards each other if there was no impending danger, world to save, companions lurking around the corner to open the door on us… Not that we went anywhere further than a significant amount of kisses. Okay, thinking back now, maybe our hands wandered a bit… but in the light of the new freedoms I gave him, he was surprisingly restrained and I was, well, let's face it, I was even less experienced than him. So after I jabbed my chin into his sternum the third time and knocked the air out of him with an elbow, not to mention that painful moment when my knee accidentally… well, anyway, we decided just to lay back on the pillows and keep our hands to ourselves.

"So: I suspect I'd need to go to court a lot, hm?" I asked at last, stretching out and turning so my other side got towards the fire. "Once, I mean…well, when we…?"

He understood the unspoken part of that sentence perfectly, since I glanced around in the room previously, then at him, and no doubt his sharp Tyrran eyes also spotted that I was toying with his ring on the silver chain handing at my throat as well.

"I am afraid so, yes." He nodded, folding his arms under his head. "On your own right as Captain of the Keep and Squire as well, of course." His mouth quirked, almost apologetically. "You'll also need to devise your coat-or-arms soon. I suspect some kind of reminder will arrive soon from Nasher's chancery before we are due to depart—they'd need to know it for banners, for some livery items and for the record books, naturally."

"Naturally." I said, a bit dazed. "I just have to do my best to come up with something, then." A thought occurred to me, and I smirked. "But I have to promise you one thing, Korranos."

"Mmm?" he asked distractedly, placing tiny kisses on my knuckles.

"Stop that!" I rapped said knuckles on his head. "Bad paladin, trying to distract me." I took a deep breath. "What I meant to say was that I decided to wear a sword with my full court dress. All the time."

"Well, that would certainly be your right to do as a squire of Sir Grayson, paladin of the Even-Handed and an official of the Lord Nasher." He said thoughtfully, not missing a beat. "You should be prepared for some rather scathing remarks from the ladies at court, though."

"The ladies at court can kiss my…" I started, indignantly, but I caught it just in time. "Aw, sorry. I need tae mind me manners." I continued, consciously slipping into West Harbor brogue, thick as heather honey. "I mean I need to behave, I apologize." I corrected myself. "But think about it: maybe I will start a new fashion?"

"It might catch." Casavir sat up. "Considering the times that might come, it might just catch and be considered prudent, even."

Just like that, the soft, almost mellow mood of the evening was gone, replaced by the present and future coalescing around us with an almost audible swoosh of air. I sighed, resigned, and sat up myself, staring at the flames in the fireplace slyly dying into embers.

"I'll pray that we do everything we can to make that not come to pass, dear one." I said quietly. "I really do. But, since you brought up the times that might come, I might as well and ask—as Nasher's nephew, you have better access to certain secrets than I. Did you find out what has become the prisoner we've found in Garius' dungeon besides Zhjaeve?"

Casavir nodded, heavily. His brows drew down: for a second I could see what he might look like in thirty years or so, and the similarity to his uncle was striking. Invisibly and quietly, the unseen mantle of a ruler settled down on his shoulders, and I stifled a sigh as I recognized with my Sight that indeed, it was a possible future that I glimpsed there.

"You probably can hear it from her own lips soon." He said, looking at me with not a hint of gentleness in his azure eyes. "You are to receive the summons from Nasher in a day or so. It will be just Nasher, Nevalle representing the Nine, Ophala as the envoy of the Cloaktower, me on behalf of the city's nobles, Judge Oleff of course on behalf of Tyr's church. And you, as the one who almost died due to the former ambassador's manipulations." His lips were pressed into one grim line now, as someone delivering news he really didn't wish me to hear. "Torio Claven is to be tried within the week by Nasher's private small court authorized to pass judgements in cases concerning the City's safety and security."


	55. We Ache To Be Free

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

_**Well, that was a looong hiatus, I must say. Apologies for everyone, and many thanks to those who sent reviews and messages, expressing their hopes that I'd continue. Well, here we go: I'm back, with a longer chapter with much happenings inside.**_

**I write to music. In case someone is curious, this chapter's mood was set by an odd assortment, echoing the main themes I explored here: **_**Brand New Start**_ **from Alter Bridge's **_**Blackbird**_**; Three Days' Grace's **_**On My Own**_ **from **_**One-X**_**; and Kelly Clarkson's **_**Can I Have a Kiss**_**? from **_**My December **_**(I think I've listened to this last one for a hundred times**_**)**_**.**

**And the usual disclaimer: I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… I take full responsibility for that Pendwyr girl, though... **

**Chapter Fifty-Five: We Ache To Be Free**

I started to believe my life was nothing but getting from one wet cloak to another in the rain.

When spring finally arrived to Neverwinter, it did it with soft but persistent warm rains and mud. Lots of mud. Lots and lots of mud, with which as a lass from West Harbor, I was intimately familiar.

Of course, that didn't mean I liked it.

"I would have thought it's different here." I muttered, huddling in my saddle rather miserable as our sizable party left the city gates and headed towards the fields.

"Different how?" Neeshka tossed her head; rain plastered her fine red locks to her skull, but that did nothing to damper her cheerful mood. She flashed a smile at me and patted my shoulder. "Come on, Rig, isn't this what you were itching for? Finally out of the city, on to the greatest adventure of your life…"

"As if running a castle is an adventure…" Nope, there was no cheering me up. "Listen, Neesh, not that I don't appreciate the effort to keep me in a better mood than I am now, but I'd enjoy some peace and quiet while we're in the saddle today, if that's all right with you. I was up with the sun, and I'd like to try this old soldiers' trick I've heard about: dozing in the saddle."

"Yeah, they are definitely turning you into a grumpy ol' soldier." Neeshka made a face. "Fine, I got you—I'll just go and entertain the paladin who's actually _nice_ to me." She turned her horse and trotted back by the line of soldiers and supply wagons to where Casavir was busy conferring with Captain Ballard about something.

We were finally moving out. The caravan made very, very slow progress assembling and finally getting outside the gates, but we made a suitable impression on the requisite hangers-on who always seemed to be milling about by the empty spaces around the city entrance. But as we neared the end of our journey, I felt as if I was sinking deeper and deeper into that black void that the orphan seer Marcus talked about so long ago. I loved to be outside, I loved the thrill of being on the open road stretching out in front of me, feeling as if I was ready to tackle anything that came by, anything that Life or fickle Lady Tymora threw at me. Lorra shared my joy: I spurred her into gallop for a while, leaving the long caravan of soldiers and my companions behind. I let the wind whip my cloak behind me as I leaned on her neck, standing up in the stirrup a bit, not caring that it probably gave Ballard and his boys a heart attack, seeing me so recklessly abandoning the security of my escort. I spared a fleeting moment of guilt for them, but no more. I needed this so much it hurt; the more so since I didn't realize I missed it _this_ much. Despite being a paladin, I grew up in a small village, accustomed to having nature and wilderness just a stone throw's away from me. If Neverwinter didn't grate on me as bad as it probably did on Elanee, it definitely was an unexpected relief to be outside its walls and on the road again.

I slowed down soon enough, though: the road wasn't in any great condition what with the winter's damage still largely unrepaired; we probably were the first large party apart from the regular repair crews I knew were sent every spring to fix the larger holes. I didn't want to get Lorra hurt, so I reined her in after we were forced to swerve dangerously to avoid a fallen tree halfway blocking the way.

As I turned her around, I found that, of course, someone decided to follow me, after all.

"Sometimes…" Casavir said a bit breathlessly as he tried to calm Elbriel down, "…sometimes I am not entirely convinced about your sanity, my lady."

"Ouch." I said, trying to untangle a lock of my hair from here it got mixed up with Lorra's mane. "That's rather harsh of you, milord. What's gotten into you?"

"Concern about your safety?" He lifted an eyebrow. "Would you do me a favor, _meum mel_? Next time you plan on trying to murder both yourself and your horse, warn me first so I can hold you down and explain just how insane it is to do that under these road conditions and with the security we are having on the roads these days?"

"Now you're talking." I grinned at him, seeing that our escort was still a ways back so no one can overhear us. "I _knew_ you just wanted to put a hand on me."

This time he lifted both eyebrows.

"Does that mean you are trying to run away again?" he deadpanned, and I finally burst out laughing, just as the sun decided that it was time to peek out a bit to reward us for our boldness.

That carefree feeling was short-lived, however. The closer we got to the rock outcropping by the river where the Keep crouched over a silent village, my heart grew heavy again. There was no way we could have stayed at the Keep just yet; after long years of neglect and the crude use to which Garius and his Luskans subjected it, it was uninhabitable, at least for a good while. The skeleton crew that was sent ahead was busy with the manor house instead, located in the abandoned village at the bottom of the cliff. I admired Casavir even more for suggesting that: I knew how difficult it must have been to him returning there, as it was originally his family's rural retreat. But it made sense, logically speaking, and never it be said that he wasn't almost ruthlessly practical when he had to employ his Tyrran-honed mind. Nasher liked the idea, and thus a small team was dispatched to get it ready for our arrival, and to make sure Master Veedle had some means of habitable tents and whatnots set up in the castle itself for himself and his crew, as he insisted to start the survey work as soon as we arrived. And that was merely the surface of the myriad little details of planning this out: it sounded more and more like a war campaign, and I was assured when I voiced that opinion that is wasn't far from the truth.

It was way too late when we arrived, but the rain never let up, not for a minute. The chaos was inevitable, but organized, thanks to Ballard bellowing on the top of his lungs and his crew bustling about like they knew what they were doing. I learned one thing already: when they were in that mode, best was to stay out of their way. So as soon as I dismounted and made sure Lorra was taken care of, I scuttled in to the manor house where I found that the main hall's fireplace was, thanks to all gods, fully operational. I was glad to see that my companions wisely followed my example: finally, after all this time, we didn't have to take care of logistics of our travel, and they apparently planned to take full advantage of it. After all, we were in the middle of Neverwinter territory, traveling with a large entourage of fully armed soldier-types.

"I could get used to this." Neeshka chuckled, stretching sinuously and rubbing her hands together in front of the fire. "Not to worry about where to sleep, what to eat, how to stay warm or where to put the loot…erm, equipment. "she corrected hurriedly, glancing at me. "Traveling in style."

"It was good, getting out of the city at last. " Elanee smiled, shaking out raindrops from her hair. "And this house has a lot of trees around it… the land feels right here."

"Glad you think so, El." I said, hunching down in front of the fireplace and almost instinctively started to rearrange the fire the way Daeghun almost obsessively insisted it should be built at our home in West Harbor. The tools by the side of the fireplace here were rather more elaborate than the single piece of iron poker we had, though: standing on a little stand of their own, it was a several-piece ensemble, all made of decoratively twisted wrought iron. Frankly, I had no idea why the set included a little dustpan and broom, but it sure looked pretty; cute, even. I poked at the logs with the only tool I recognized, glanced at the door and winced, seeing the latest addition to our entourage entering the hall, covered from head to toe in an enormous fur cloak. Neeshka caught my gaze and squatted down next to me with a smirk on her face.

"Oh look, She Who's Not To Be Trusted." she whispered with a conspiratorial wink. "A great idea, having Cas shepherding her."

I winced again.

"Truth to tell, I didn't tell him anything of the sort…" I started but Neeshka nudged me silent as those two got closer. I would have shut up anyway as soon as Casavir's aura touched mine. Apart from that little bit on the road, we haven't had a chance to speak almost all day, let alone do…anything else, and to say that the feelings his aura invoked in me were incredibly soothing and…intensely intimate at the same time was a mild understatement.

I swallowed as I lifted my eyes to meet his. This was a very, very public place, and a rather public situation, and that was pretty much how it was for the past couple of weeks. Just like we suspected, after that last quiet evening at his house, we barely had time for talking in private, let alone think about doing anything more than a few, hastily exchanged stolen kisses in front of doors, in and out of meetings. We still used every morning to meet and have our practices together whenever it was possible, but usually it happened out on the training grounds at the barracks in Castle Never; and, frankly, two armored paladins beating the crap out of each other hardly counted as something even remotely romantic. Well, for most people, anyway. Casavir and I welcomed those sessions as an excellent opportunity to catch up on events happening since last we've seen each other, to discuss certain pressing matters—and yes, it pretty much was the only way we could touch each other anymore. After the first couple of rather frustrating session we were able to find the humor in the situation and just laugh at how much more aware we were of each other lately. My latent spell certainly helped in that; but then again, being able to honestly talk about it and acknowledging that undeniable sweet and occasionally unbearable tension that sprung up whenever we were locked in one of those close-quarter techniques…

"Um." I heard myself saying, not particularly intelligently. This was getting harder and harder; there was a reason I tried not to be really close to him lately. That little interlude after our race this morning didn't help, at all. "I just fixed up the fire."

I _so_ hated when I stated the obvious. It made me about three times more self-conscious about my origins and how inexperienced I was, and that, coupled with the fact that the person in Casavir's company was the once so powerful Luskan ambassador to Neverwinter I faced down in a courtroom once, however humbled and brought low now… Well, let's just say I had to make a conscious effort not to slip back into my West Harbor brogue. This being-a-noble thing was _hard_.

"So you did." Casavir smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling up with a million little wrinkles. I happened to know just how soft the skin was right there, and I couldn't help but close my eyes for a second against the memory of my lips slowly sliding…

"Right." I nodded, briskly, rubbed my hands together and stood up. Damn the man to have that effect on me practically all the time lately. A small part of me, the human-Arrighan half of my soul, snickered and offered the insight that perhaps he was well aware of this.

_Nah, surely not._ My celestial part was all aghast. _He's a paladin, and a noble and…_

_He's a man._ My human self continued, rather snidely. _As no doubt you noticed quite a number of times, and as perhaps you'd really like to have further proof of it now that you're out of Neverwinter and at your destination._

_Duty. Honor. Paladin's code._ _Him being a perfect gentleman._ My celestial side reared back in horror, citing those words as if warding against an attack.

_Riight._ Human-Arrighan snickered again. _And you two are engaged to be wed, too. Sweet Sune's breath, girl, this waiting business is killing you both so why don't you just ditch decorum and…_

_I am not listening._ Aasimar or not, this was getting rather tiresome. I shook my head to clear it, and then decided to just go into an entirely different subject… wisely employing a tactic learned rather early from Aevan. Battlefield teachings could be applied in the most surprising situations, really.

"Everything is all right?" My hand gesture indicated the woman on his left. "Wasn't…"

"I am standing right here, you know, Squire." Torio Claven said icily, her eyes narrowing. "You really might simply ask me. I don't bite."

"Much." Neeshka said behind me, loud enough that it still could be heard.

"What I meant to ask was…" I continued, deciding to just glide over both of them as smoothly as possible, "…since I didn't have a chance to talk to you, Mistress Claven, since we departed the city, is there aught else you'd require for your comfort?"

"You mean other than an impeccably polite yet frosty cool Tyrran who doesn't really let me out of his sight, a wizard who is so twitchy in my presence I was actually afraid he might incinerate me if I sneeze, _and_ this charming compulsion anklet…" she lifted the hem of her skirt to show one delicate stockinged ankle with a thin silver band encircling it tightly, " that the tame mages of your lord force me to wear to ensure I don't ever shed my new leash?" There was so much venom in her voice; it reminded me, yet again, just how dangerous this woman was.

It also made me, yet again, question Nasher's and Nevalle's decision to entrust her to me.

"_And however much Nevalle here recommends her execution, I cannot help but think that we might yet find her useful in some way." Nasher stroked his beard thoughtfully and regarded me with that clear emerald gaze of his, which, paladin or no, made me shift uncomfortably in my chair still. "She already revealed a lot of information that might prove rather useful in ferreting out at least part of the Luskan spy network in the City."_

"_The new Ambassador's first task, no doubt, was to change a lot of that as soon as she got here." Nevalle countered. "A lot of her information is, frankly, stale at best, inaccurate, misleading and dangerous to act on the worst."_

"_Your job is to be considering those possibilities, Carson." Nasher's face was hard and unreadable. "Mine is to consider the future of this city. As many of those futures as it is humanly possible."_

"_Yes, my Lord." One of those traits of born and bred nobility I always envied as the ability to convey entire paragraphs with just one sentence and its inflections, coupled with their pose, the tilt of their head, their eyes, the twitch of their mouth…My abilities as a Tyrran, further refined as His Chosen, allowed me to detect the complex undertones in Nevalle's words: but what really made me pause and for a second almost grow dizzy was what Lord Nasher said._

"_And for that, I decided to leave her alive. And in your care, Chosen." His next sentences, however, made me almost shoot out of my chair._

"_S-sire?" I blurted, stumbling over the word slightly, like someone caught doing something they were forbidden to do. "Did I understand that right? You would… send Mistress Claven with me to Crossroad Keep?"_

_Nasher nodded, lifting an eyebrow slightly as if asking for input from those around the table, but otherwise remaining silent._

"_I see." Nevalle leaned back; some tension went out of his shoulders just as it definitely started to creep into mine upon hearing Nasher's words. "That would send her away from the city and any potential chance to stir up trouble; back to the scene of her master's demise as a constant reminder; in the hands of someone who's guaranteed not to be swayed by any manipulation on her part; and potentially assisting in the war efforts by providing intelligence and transferring her agent network directly to our frontlines where we need it the most. Not to mention that at the slightest sign of any…disobedience, there will be not one, but two of Tyr's best warriors to mete out justice, swift and final." He dipped his head. "Forgive me, my lord; this was a long day."_

"_And a long winter, by all counts." Nasher smiled a tight little smile and turned his attention to me again. "Do you have any questions still, after hearing that analysis, Chosen?"_

"_I try very hard not to." I muttered under my breath, loud enough though for Casavir to lightly touch my elbow. I continued, a bit louder. "I am at your service, Sire." There: I shot a look at my knight sitting right next to me. Who can say I am not good at diplomacy? "I will do my best to contain Mistress Claven and to ensure her willing cooperation while residing in the very place where she was last imprisoned by her previous employer." Casavir's grip on my elbow became stronger: I steadfastly ignored it and looked Nasher straight in the eye._

"_Your opinion is duly noted, Chosen." The city's ruler nodded almost imperceptibly; there was a faint hint of a smile around his lips. "In fact, I would start worrying about you had you not said anything."_

_As always, he was perceptive: but then again, that's why he was on top. And then again, that's why I was here, presumably. He could always count on me not to try clothing my opinion in flowery words or simply shut up and be nice. I never presumed he paid me for that. And as much as I had a rather low opinion of Torio Claven after my trial, to say that she was imprisoned for her perceived incompetence by Garius was to put it very, very mildly._

_Nevalle tapped a piece of parchment in front of him._

"_According to your report, Squire…" he said, with a furrow between his brows, "…she was held in a cell at the basement of Crossroad Keep with the…decomposing body of Lorne Starling, is that correct?"_

"_Oh, no, I just made that up." I looked at him, hard. "Because that's what we paladins of Tyr do." My patience was really wearing thin today; all this talk about how we found Torio brought all the memories back, and none of them were pleasant. "This is Black Garius we are talking about, Sir Nevalle—he ordered an entire village exterminated so they can try to frame me for it. I'd think this kind of punishment is precisely what he'd exact on someone who fails him." I took a deep breath and continued to ignore the fact that Casavir's fingers dug into my arm increasingly stronger. "Both Torio and Lorne were my enemies. In fact, they tried to kill me rather persistently: but I wouldn't have wished what happened on either of them. Lorne to die unattended from his wounds in a windowless damp cell and left to rot, with Torio to keep him company…" I shuddered at the memory. "In light of that, I don't think anything we do to her could be worse."_

Which just goes to show that I still had a lot to learn. Torio did not respond well to kindness: in fact, during the days and weeks that followed, I found that the best way to deal with her was to strictly stick to business and limit my interactions with her to the bare minimum. I also realized that taking Sand with me to help with the intelligence business part of the conversations was a big mistake: that meeting degraded into a verbal sparring match between those two so fast I could barely leave the room, dragging the protesting wizard with me by sheer brute force. I never made that mistake again, electing to have Neeshka to accompany me to those briefings instead, for whom I had high hopes in this field. She tended to become impatient, though, and that led to confrontation, so after a while I just let her concentrate on her efforts with Cormick in developing some non-conventional warfare training exercises for my Greycloaks, and continued my meetings with Torio alone.

_Which was exactly what she was waiting for, apparently…_I rubbed my forehead between my eyes to relive the sudden tension that sprung up as I contemplated that. I looked at Torio, standing there in that sodden fur cloak, still managing to look haughty and assured, and I realized that there was a conversation I've put off way too long and which could not wait any longer now that we were here, literally at the doorstep of my future home. So I spent the next half hour or so making sure that the unpacking efforts were going well, that all of my companions had assigned rooms or at least bunks, however temporary, and then I checked to see if I had a room and if I was able to find it rather fast. I was glad to see that the doors and locks were the first thing the crew restored and that they closed nice and tight; I didn't even particularly care about how hard the mattresses two of my Greycloaks were busy wrestling onto the bedframe were, or if it took forever for the enormous fireplace to warm up the room. I'd slept in much worse conditions: and I suspected by the time I was done with this particular duty of mine as Captain of Crossroad Keep I wouldn't mind sleeping on rocks.

I grabbed an extra cloak from my pack, found my hidden flask of dwarven spirits Khelgar tucked amongst my belongings before we departed, and ventured out into the courtyard to find Bishop.

He was crouching by the edge of the manor house's wall, just where the ruins of abandoned farmhouses jutted towards the night sky. His wolf was sitting upright next to him, listening to the night noises coming from the thick forest.

"No one but your Greycloak vanguard had been here for quite a long time." He said, not even straightening up from examining the ground. "Apart from some animals, that is." His arm shot out towards the forest, and he turned his head towards his wolf. "Go ahead, mutt, have some fun… and keep an eye open for trouble, will you?"

Karnwyr stood up, shook himself, regarded me for a second with that unfathomable gaze of his, and disappeared between the trees.

Bishop grinned, a flash of white in the darkness.

"Am I doing well in earning my pay, holy girl?"

"I don't know, Bishop." I said slowly. There it was: as good an opening to what I had to say as I'm ever going to get. "_You_ tell me how well you earned what Garius paid you." I felt anger stir in the pit of my stomach, slow but sure. "I always wondered how Torio learned so much about my movements for the trial; now I know."

"I see." He didn't even try to deny it: that at last I could appreciate. "The bitch sang, didn't she?"

"You seriously thought she wouldn't?" I retorted, leaning against the wall and making sure my sword was loose in its scabbard by my side. I've learned never, ever let my guard down with this man.

"I just didn't expect Nasher's interrogators to be so successful, is all." Bishop shrugged. "Then again, she was in their clutches long enough; and those boys from the Cloaktower who aided us here looked like some tough customers."

"Coming from you, I suppose that's a compliment." I shook my head. I was tired and wanted this to be over quickly. "Just tell me: why in the Hells are you still here? After we killed your boss…"

I barely had time to get my blade halfway from it sheath before he was on me. Damnation and hellfire, but he was fast. I always forgot that.

"Don't. Ever." He hissed into my face; his grip was painful on my wrists as he pressed me against the wall. "I have no one rule me. No one! Least of all that…"

"Yet you took his money." I willed myself to be calm, even though every instinct in my body screamed at me to do something about the fact that Bishop was restraining me in one of the least comfortable ways possible. Instead, I took a deep breath, and I called upon my aura to expand and envelope him—I visualized waves of cooling silver emanating from the center of my being to touch the angry orange-and-green conflagration that burned in Bishop's heart.

"Damn you, holy girl." He let go just as lightning-quick as he surprised me. He snatched back his hands was as if he got burned and took a step back. "Damn your…holy powers, and damn your righteousness and your …" He didn't finish; I could hear him letting out a bitter laugh. 'Well, I suppose I might as well tell you my side of the story, otherwise you will just believe what that viper Torio told you and…"

"Everyone has a right to a fair trial." I let a smidgen of my god's power creep into my voice and looked him fully in the eyes. "Even a spy."

It was odd that he took this in stride this much: I expected more than just that one outburst. I however, remembered my instructions and intended to keep with them as much as possible. I just had to keep in mind who I was dealing with.

"Don't try to intimidate me, holy girl." Bishop said quietly, but enunciating every single word clearly. "You powers will not work on me."

"Sure." I shrugged, feigning indifference and slid down to sit on the ground, with my back against the wall. "That's why you reacted so strongly to my aura, right?" I lifted a hand. "Of course Nasher's agents knew you were working for Garius well before Torio officially made her confession and named you, Bishop: he wouldn't have stayed in power this long if His Highness' spy ring wasn't worth anything. Now the fact that they haven't elected to communicate that to me…" I let that sentence trail off unfinished and watched his eyes widen at the implications of that.

"So you were also left out to hang dry, huh?" He chuckled and some of the coiled tension went out of his spine as he crouched back on the ground, pulling his long legs underneath him. "Sounds like they set you up and used you pretty much as I suspected…"

"But of course." I nodded. "That's the nature of rulers: they use people as chess pawns." I didn't have to playact to have my voice sound a bit bitter: after all, what paladin worth his or her salt wouldn't object to being lied to by the people he or she is supposed to serve?

"You don't seem to be terribly upset about it, for a paladin." Bishop's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

I shrugged, but my tension just ratcheted up a significant amount. That was a direct question: and I couldn't lie.

I could, however, choose my words with care as I was telling the truth. Some of the more conservative members of my order would have said I was stretching the code a bit there: but dammit, I had to work with what I was given.

"I would say I am growing…more familiar with the inner circles of power." I said slowly. "In less than a year, I went from a washed-up West Harbor hedge-paladin to captain of a border castle and Squire of the royal court. You learn fast that way."

"I say." muttered Bishop. "So: want to hear my side of the story, or did you already decide what to do with me?"

"Oh, I already know what to do with you." I said lightly. "But I still want to know what _made_ you do it. I thought you hated Luskans with a passion. At least that's what Duncan told me."

"Duncan…" He snarled. "It was about time that we left his inn, anyway. I was just ready to…"

"He's coming, you know." I said, as innocently as I could. "He proposed to take over the inn at the keep, and the court accepted. As soon as he finalizes handing over the _Flagon_ to Sal, he and Shandra will follow us here. We need someone experienced to handle the start up of such an important venture: providing for soldiers and the merchants that no doubt would travel on this road as soon as we secure it cannot simply be left to anyone."

Bishop swore.

"Whatever." I waved a hand as imperiously as I could and sent a quick prayer to Tyr that this charade would be over soon. "You were saying…?"

"You really did change, holy girl." He said slowly. "I wander what His Holiness says about this? And whether he likes it better this way?"

"Look: can we leave Casavir out of this discussion just for a second?" I was determined not to give an inch: he was able to smell weakness like any predator worth his salt. "One would almost think you're obsessing about him this fervently because you fancy him. The way you try to slip him into every conversation…"

I wasn't sure how he'd react to that, but I was willing to take the risk. Based on my observations earlier, I thought he was secure enough in his masculinity that this little jibe from me would probably just further the notion that I was 'one of the boys', nothing more. I decidedly didn't want to play up the fact with him that I was female. Ever.

"Now that's…" Yes, I finally managed to catch him off guard. "_Where_ on earth a holy girl like you comes up with ideas like that?"

"Told you I grew up in West Harbor; one isn't exactly coddled in silks and lace and between four walls there." I shrugged. "Besides, I was in the Watch for a while, too: my beat was by the Docks, if you recall."

"There's that, yeah." His hand moved to his hip and I scooted back a bit, snapping into attention in a second.

He noticed, of course.

"Relax, holy girl." He almost chuckled as he lifted a small, slender metal flask. "Cyric's Balls, but you're jumpy tonight. I just need some fortification, is all." He took a swig and offered the flask to me. "I haven't… talked about this to anyone, so…"

"Right." I tasted the drink: it was some kind of a fruit brandy, smooth and full of flavor. I didn't expect something like that from Bishop. I clicked my tongue appreciatively and handed it back to him.

"Like it, hm?" He shook his head, almost regretfully. "Beshaba's tits, what are you doing being a Tyrran, anyway?"

"Smiting evil and looking devastatingly good in heavy plate. What did you think?" I responded almost instinctively; that single sip tinted my voice with some smokiness and my eyes were watering just a tiny bit. That was quite some brandy there.

"The last woman I knew who was like you…" he started, then paused. "Hells, why not…?" he muttered and took a deep breath. "I hate Luskans, holy girl, because I used to be one."

"I see." I tried to breathe evenly, kept my voice and my face carefully neutral, and kept listening.

"You ask why I ended up spying on you for Torio? Because she blackmailed me into it, that's why. She…learned who I was, who I used to be. Probably from Lorne, may he rot in the hells. After all, we served in the same brotherhood, at least for a while."

_The Circle of Blades._ I felt my heart give a long thud at that, and I fought to contain my excitement upon hearing that. All of these little mosaics of facts, finally coming together…

"Lorne was in the Greycloaks during the Luskan-Neverwinter wars." I interjected. "I am assuming he was captured and drafted by force?"

"His natural…talents were discovered during routine interrogation after he was captured, yes; and the Brotherhood was never one for wasting diamonds in the rough. If they proved to be able to withstand the cutting process, they became assassins. If not…" He shrugged again, and took another swig from his hip flask. "Well, they just became like me."

I remained silent, watching his movements instead. It started to make sense now, the deadliness I always sensed in him, that coiled, controlled but lethal darkness crouching in the center of his being.

"My…initiation ritual, like everyone's in the Circle, involved mass murder of innocents." He continued, looking somewhere towards the forest. "Go out; find a village, preferably on the Neverwinter side of the border; kill as much as you can; torch the rest."

I couldn't suppress a shiver of revulsion, hearing how dispassionate his voice sounded. I was sure he noticed it from the corner of his eye: I learned long ago to never underestimate this man, and his recent revelation just emphasized that.

"They left the choice to me, you understand." It was almost dreamlike: the dark, the silhouette of the trees, the quiet buzz of my entourage behind the wall, the soldiers settling down for the night—and above all those night noises, Bishop's voice, telling me his story as if he was discussing the weather. "So when I came up with the idea to visit my home village, a miserable collection of hovels huddling in the Mere of Dead Men called Redfallow's Watch, the Master of the Circle was pleased." He paused remembering. "How he hells you knew to call me 'child of Redfallow's Watch' the morning of your trial, holy girl, I have no idea. For a second there, I thought you figured me all out…"

"It wasn't me, Bishop." I said quietly, but he went on, as if he hasn't even heard me.

"Naturally, on these excursions, as escorts for the initiates, they sent some more experienced assassins, but mostly it was young ones, eager to practice their art and to show off for the greenie that got to prove him or herself." He glanced at me. "Yes, holy girl, there were women in the Blades, some of them quite good. It's not always about muscle, you know."

I've never heard him talking this much before; his voice was rough from lack of use, the spirit he kept sipping on, and the memories.

"So it really wasn't much of a deal to set my little trap. And before you go all soft on me, it was nothing like you probably think. I didn't have a change of heart, I didn't take pity on my fellow men, and I sure as hells didn't want all of a sudden to save them and rejoin humanity. I merely…wanted out. I merely wanted to be free." He shuddered, suddenly and violently. "Not to be bound to anyone…weak and mewling swampdwellers, stinking Luskan city-slickers, pompous youngsters bragging about their kills like they were discussing fashion, or ancient wizened masters of all wickedness."

"In other words, you betrayed your masters." I interjected. I found my own flask and took a swig: I felt like this definitely deserved whatever Khelgar hid inside. "What did you get for that, I wonder?"

"Ah, the famous Tyrran judgment in action." He sniffed. "How lovely. Yes, holy girl, I got peppered by arrows as I tried to make my escape, and yes, one of them properly struck me down. I wasn't sure whether it was from my own squad I warned the village against, or one of my former neighbors got lucky. Hells, it might even have been one of my cousins'…there were enough of them there, thick as mud." I heard the scraping of his boots as he made himself more comfortable on the ground. "So there I was, lying on the street, in the middle of a burning village, the dead and the dying all around me, arrows in my gut and my shoulder, and let me tell you something, holy girl. You have no idea about what freedom is, until you're dying. You got that peaceful feeling, detached from everything, after what it seems like a lifetime of orders barked at you, constraints placed in your way… All of that falls away, all of that matters not anymore, because you're about to leave everything behind in that pool of red liquid slowly spreading underneath you…" He took a deep breath. "Yeah, Duncan found me; Duncan Farlong, adventurer extraordinaire, happened on that little shithole of a village, and saved my bloody life after he managed to save some lives of those miserable sheep-people as well. He is also, by the way, a right sneaky bastard, just to let you know, holy girl."

His speech stated to slightly slur from the amount of brandy he consumed. I passed him my flask and he sampled the dwarven spirit generously.

"Ye gods, what is this shit?" he exclaimed. "Weapon cleaner?"

"It's from Khelgar." I said, my voice a bit rough, too. "I figure it fits the occasion." I was sitting on the ground listening to an ex-assassin who, to put it mildly, didn't have much in common with me and whom I clearly found repulsive, explaining away his life story to me as if I was his best drinking buddy. I couldn't remember being in a more bizarre situation in my life. Yep, Khelgar's rotgut was absolutely perfect for this.

"Yeah, you're not the type who'd resort to poison." Bishop said with a slight chuckle. "Anyway, your uncle, the right sneaky bastard. He put two and two together about me being there, and eventually proposed a deal to me: he remains silent about my involvement about the destruction of Redfallow's Watch, but I'd owe him a debt."

"And he collected when he commanded you to aid me to track down Shandra's kidnappers." I nodded; that fit.

"So there you have it, holy girl." Bishop stared into the darkness again. "I got picked up into the assassin's guild as a youngster, and I was glad to leave that village behind. Then I left the guild behind, too, only to be recognized by some of my former mates and blackmailed by Torio into providing her information about you and your companions for the trial." Yet another bitter laugh escaped his lips. "Seems like I can never escape my past, can I?"

"Seems to me I didn't throw you out yet, Bishop." I stood up, stretched a bit. This was the hardest part, and I prayed that I was convincing enough in my sincerity. After all, nothing I said or would say would be a lie. "I personally think you're a rather unpleasant human being and gods know I wanted to righteously beat the shit out of you more than once for good reasons…but everyone deserves a chance. Everyone. Even a drunken ex-assassin ranger who ratted out on the companions who tried to treat him decently over and over again. " I shrugged. "You remain on the payroll, Bishop. I need a competent ranger for scouting and archery training for my 'Cloaks; patrolling these woods will be difficult as is. I'll leave word with Kana with your arrangements." I waved a hand. "So feel free to go and roam around with your mutt, 'kay?"

He peered at me for a long, long time from underneath is furrowed brows.

"A chance, eh?" he finally said, holding my gaze steadily. He didn't seem drunk now, not at all.

"One." I said firmly, not moving a muscle.

He leaned down and picked up his cloak from the ground, with his sword and bow sticking out on top. I still didn't move, willing myself completely still and my face expressionless as one of his gloved hands reached out and traced the line of my god-marks under my right eye slowly.

"I see." he said finally, his voice unusually soft. "'Night, then, holy girl. Sleep tight."

After he disappeared into the trees, I waited for a long, long time before I finally let my breath out and eased the tension out of my muscles. My fingers were clutching the hilt of my sword so tightly they actually hurt.

Neeshka melted out of the shadows without making any sound.

"Well done." She said, and patted my shoulders. "I think he's totally convinced he's played you for a fool." She pouted his lips. "Poor misunderstood ranger boy, who just waited for the right person to listen to his sad, sad life story. The right person to see that deep underneath all that gruff and grime and sniffle and snide, he's just a misunderstood man waiting to be rescued and redeemed."

"Yes, he did very well." I shuddered. "Thanks, Neesh, for watching my back." Now that Bishop was gone, I felt all of my muscles starting to quiver as the tension slowly leaked out of every inch of my body. "Gods, I really hope I don't have to do that once again, ever. Neesh, tell me: do most people think that us, paladins, can be so easily manipulated by our desire to… save souls and to do right?"

"Well, it did work to your advantage now, huh?" My tiefling was very good at evasive answers; it certainly was, so to speak, in her blood. "I mean…yes, I can totally see how someone like Bishop thinks that just by spilling his guts and playing the 'you can maybe, kind of, slowly reform me of my wicked ways of the past and by the way, see my sensitive side' card, he can make you blind to whatever he did or will do…" She was, also, very, very perceptive. It was my luck, since she was able to see things from a quite different perspective. "Lucky for you that you don't fall for it, I guess."

I sighed.

"It just makes me want to smash something, really hard." I said slowly. "This type of…playing with words and pretending I am falling for some carefully woven web of deceit and lies while knowing full well that it's me who manipulates the other is… hard and draining." Besides, I was reasonably sure that Bishop wasn't entirely convinced I was taken in. That last glance had too much of something I recognized from roaming with Daeghun in the Mere: the evaluating gaze of a predator, slowly realizing it has met its equal.

"Sorry, Rig." Neeshka gave me a hard, short hug. I appreciated it all the more since I knew she'd pay for it with world-class itching later. "However, I'd think I know just the right remedy for your woes at the moment." She winked. "He's six-four, with blue eyes and black hair, likes brooding and…"

"You're horrible, Neesh." I said sternly, after a moment of silence. "I _most_ definitely should not be conversing with you for a second more."

"I agree." She nodded enthusiastically. "It's much warmer in his room, I bet."

"Shuddup." I muttered, but quickened my steps. "Please. " I added after a pause because, after all, I was supposed to be impeccably polite.

"Oh, sweetie. Please." Neeshka puffed up her cheeks. "I had a chance to talk to him a bit today and let me tell you, based on that, you both seriously need to let some tension out in the old time-honored way."

"You…_didn't_!" I exclaimed, incredulously.

"Well, okay, fine, not in such words, no." She grinned. "But I got pretty good about reading body language in my line of work, and you know, that's one majorly tense boy. You two have been doing this courting thing for what…since your Trial, basically, and I could tell you had something brewing well before that." She scratched the base of one of her delicate horns and frowned. "Does he have a chastity vow? Or is he…" she paused uncomfortably, "…y'know… erm, _incapacitated_? Should I ask Sand for some potions of restoration? I wouldn't mind, you know, you're my bestest friend and…"

"Neesh." I said between my teeth. "You are veering perilously close to being the victim of a Holy Smite right now, despite all my convictions. By the seven holy archons, please stop." I looked around: we reached the manor house's entrance door, and the two guards stationed there barely could conceal their interest in our conversation.

"Okay, fine, _fine_." She grimaced at the guards and pushed the door open. We walked through. "See what I'm talking about, though? His room is thataway, sweetie." she added, gripping my shoulder and pointing with her chin. "At least go and tell him all is OK with you...I don't think he relished the idea of you talking to Bishop at all."

"You know, that's the first sensible thing…" I started to say, then swallowed the rest of it. I didn't want to say something that I might regret later, and right now all my nerves were taut as a drawn bowstring, which didn't bode well for aasimar-tiefling interaction. She was right: Casavir didn't like this whole idea of keeping Bishop on a new leash from the very start of hatching the plan during our briefings with Nasher and Nevalle. "Anyhow, I better be going. He, um, waited long enough as it is. As my second-in-command, he obviously deserves a briefing, right?"

"Yep." Neeshka nodded sagely. "And lemme tell you, that's the first real smile I saw on your face today."

"Get away from me, fiendling." I muttered, miming to swat at her. "Shoo!" She ducked and shrieked in mock terror, fleeing towards the back of the manor house, not missing the opportunity to turn back and stick her tongue out at me before disappearing on the corridor.

She was right, though. I was smiling, at the mere thought of seeing Casavir again, even though I was still tense from my meeting with Bishop. But I was done with analyzing my emotions for the night. It really was rather late, but it was true that I couldn't just go to bed without at least letting him know what transpired. And I could feel his aura extending all the way out of his room down the corridor as I stopped in front of his door and rapped on the wood. The silver and blue waves hummed almost audibly with nervous energy, and I felt the bonds of my inadvertent spell come alive with a gold-tinted shimmer answering their call.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting." I started as soon as the door opened, and I really tried to sound businesslike. "Neeshka said you were worried." I smoothed a loose tendril of my hair back from my face and tilted my head to one side. "Can I come in?"

"Forgive me." Casavir said simply and stood aside, allowing me to enter the room. "I couldn't help it." He had traces of dark circles under his eyes. "I know full well that you're perfectly capable of dealing with demons, devils, evil sorcerers and extraplanar creatures…and yet...This is not something I am proud of, but I must confess that the side of me which wishes to…protect you from harm is in full uproar every time you as much as speak to Bishop."

I appreciated the hells out of the fact that, instead of dancing around the issue with his usual politeness and circumvallation, he walked straight into the fray. I didn't want to think it was my influence of him, but there was no denying of the fact that months ago he'd never have allowed himself to be this blunt with me.

"So I noticed. " I allowed myself a little smile as I touched his arm. "From the very first time you two have met, if I remember right."

"The gods know I don't like to judge someone without sufficient facts." he said slowly. I watched him pace a little bit back and forth in front of his fireplace, and waited."I listened during Torio's interrogations and trial enough to know what was at stake, and I reluctantly agreed to this…this method of binding Bishop to us with a new bond so we have him close and he can be watched, just like Torio can." His eyes flashed azure and in an instant he was in front of me, his hands clutching at my shoulders. "But no one can tell me how I feel about the fact that I might have willingly allowed you to stray from the path of Light so you can serve Neverwinter!"

His voice got rough and choked on emotions that made his aura awash in little flashes of lighting so bright I almost had to close my eyes. He was angry, I had to realize, angrier than I suspected, and that perfect self-control of his could only hold off so far. He utterly hated this deception and the games I had to play in the service of Nasher now and in the future, and there was only so much he could take. Especially since political games and Nasher's direct judgment and orders were what made him go into exile in the first place. On top of all that, as well, was the fact that this place held way too many memories for him, good or bad, about the family he had, and the family he lost, about the love and laughter here as a child, about the responsibilities coming to him as an heir apparent, about the darkness that came to visit his family…

"That is way too close to how my life almost careened out of control, and I will now allow it!" he continued and I sensed that old fault-line on his soul to throb with deep pain that reverberated in his voice. "He is full of lies, deception and festering wounds that poisoned him thoroughly, exactly like Torio. You'll have not just one, but _two_ of those here, right next to you, and…"

"_Casavir_." My voice came from somewhere deep inside me, drawing on my powers, more resonant and stronger than my own.

He swallowed and fell silent, his eyes searching my face.

"I know this." I continued; the tension that I had thought I could finally let out started to return to my body and I wasn't sure how much longer I was able to keep upright before I collapsed out of sheer exhaustion. The slow trickle of power certainly helped; I felt a stirring of white feathers around me as my heavenly self rose to the surface. I welcomed the help: Tyr knew that my human side was almost half-asleep already and definitely not equipped to deal with this crisis _right now_.

"Don't you think that there's no better place to contain Torio and Bishop than under the watchful eye of His Chosen and her Champion?" I smoothed a palm on his cheek and I felt him tremble. "This is one of those times, dear one, when I can see the wisdom of our god in Nasher's orders."

My mouth twisted into a sad smile as I saw his countenance soften. It was one of the most wonderful things between us that I rarely had to resort to long, drawn-out explanations: the bond we've created, still getting stronger with each day allowed for understanding on a much deeper level than mere words would have provided.

"It doesn't mean I have to like it, though…" I added, my voice catching. I clutched at Casavir's arm as the god's sparkle of power slowly left me, feeling even more drained than before. I didn't quite understand why, until I saw his face closing up and his head bow.

"I'm sorry…" His voice was tinged with deep sadness and the edges of shame. "I'm so sorry, lady, for doubting you." He went on one knee before me, head bowed, holding my hand still, like a supplicant. "Will the Chosen of the Even-Handed forgive her servant?"

He was utterly serious, I had to realize; and dread enveloped me, seeing him slipping back to his old self this easily.

"Oh no, you don't. " I said between my clenched teeth and he looked up, lips slightly parted, disbelief in his eyes. "We're _so_ not doing this again, dammit."

I knelt as well, grabbing his shoulders and forcing him to look into my eyes.

"Equals." I said, and the force of my emotions got through him, rocking back on his heels. "This we vowed, and this we swore; you gave your blood and I gave mine; you gave your ring and I wore it. We made a vow, Casavir. Don't you ever forget. " I shook my head. "Don't shut me out again by elevating me up on a pedestal. It's not there with you." I slid my hands up to cup his face, my voice lowering into a rough whisper as I leaned closer. "It's not. There. Understand me?"

Gods, I was such a mess. This whole being-a-captain business was like a huge Mere leech attached to me, constantly sapping away my strength, my will, my whole self. It forced me to consider things I've never thought I would ever consider, to do things that once I thought were impossible…This whole business with Bishop went almost directly against strict paladin code: no wonder I've felt like I was drained, no wonder Casavir felt like I was forced to abandon values I always held dear.

But I could be me, with him. I could be weak, and he would support me. I could cry, and he would wipe away my tears. I could scream, and he would hush me.

I could love him, and he would love me back.

If he let me. If I let him.

"Arrighan." His voice was hoarse. 'I…"

"Shh." I shook my head. "I know."

And I did.

"Just…don't move." I whispered into that barest of space separating us. "Stay."

I wished I could sear this into my memory, to remember him, just like that, with his azure eyes half-hidden beneath his lids, pupils slightly dilated, the line of his jaw softening as his lips opened oh so readily under mine…

_Possibilities, so many possibilities.._. My mind went dizzy with it as time stretched in all directions. Streaks of silver, azure and crimson: all the different paths we could go from here… from the deepest of passion to the coldest of rejection, all possible, all there, all balanced on the edge of a deep ravine, in that moment that didn't want to end.

_Ah, the possibilities…_ I shook with the force of it as the vision took me and brought me back, making my spine arch and my body press desperately against him.

Casavir obeyed me; he remained still for a long time as that kiss went on and on, until I released my hands from his face, and brought his, fingers clasped with mine, to rest on my waist.

"Don't shut me out." I repeated as I broke away from his mouth for a second, for a desperate gasp of air to descend again into the swirling riot of colors and emotions: all those reds and purples and brilliant golds! "Don't…please."

I swayed as his stillness broke at last and he finally returned my kiss with a bruising force that took my breath away. He made a sound that was nearly a sob and I almost physically felt the barriers of his self-restraint shake and start to dissolve, along with my own.

"Never again." he promised in a ragged whisper against the corner of my mouth, the trembling vein in my neck, my collarbone. "Never." He repeated it, over and over again as I closed my eyes and clutched at his shoulder, as I let my head fall back and allowed his lips and his hands-oh, those hands!- move all over me at last, desperate and frenzied, clasps and buttons opening in their wake. His fingers slid along the hem of my clothes and my outer garments fell away, searing heat trailing on my skin, so sweet, so sweet...

"_Sistinae mea_…My Chosen." he rumbled. The swirling colors slowed down somewhat against my burning eyelids, and I felt some semblance of sanity replace the raging, aching feel of 'want' that surged up almost unbearably high just a moment ago. "Do you…trust me?"

"I…oh, gods…" I could barely speak; this was overwhelming, so much, too much, the feel of him, the touch, the scent, the sensations: hands, lips, skin…But it was something I needed to answer, it was _truth_, and I could not _not_ say it. "I…do. I do."

"Then stay." He stopped, went still, with his forehead against mine, warm hands resting on my hips. "Stay here. With me."

"Here?" My head was spinning; I wanted to make sure I heard him right over the pounding of my heart. "You mean…?"

"Trust me?" One hand cupped my face and I leaned into it, breathing a kiss into his palm. "Please…" he said in a barely audible whisper. "I…I don't want to spend my first night between these walls alone. The…" He swallowed. "The memories…"

_Oh, sweet Tyr_.

I thought my heart was about to burst; I felt tears stinging my eyes. What that cost him, asking that…It hit me right in the chest, with the force of a hammer-bolt.

Did I have any chance to even hesitate? Did I have the right?

Did I not trust him?

"I just... need to hear another heartbeat." The silver lights in his eyes threatened to overwhelm me completely. The same fire danced in his voice. "Yours. Only yours." He tilted his head: I've never seen him this vulnerable. "Please."

It was a hard, narrow, and uncomfortable mattress they found for his bed; but it didn't matter much. Nothing outside of that room mattered just then. I've never in my life had a better night of sleep that that one spent covered in a coarse blanket, fully clothed, curled up on my side, feeling his warm body press against my back, listening to his heartbeat and his steady breathing, his arms, his scent, his aura and his love around me.

I trusted him.


	56. Do Not Sleep, Star of My Eyes

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**New chapter! You thought I'd given up on this, didn't you?**

**I write to music. These were the pieces I've had playing while working on this chapter to get the mood right: yet again, the haunting **_**Queen**__**of the Sun**_** by the **_**Angels of Venice**_**, as the recurring theme of Arrighan's spell cast back in Chapter 34**_**; **_**and three pieces from Faun's **_**Renaissance**_** and **_**Licht**_** albums: **_**Unda**_**, **_**Ne Aludj El**_** and **_**Da Que Deus**_**.**

**And the usual disclaimer: I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin. I take full responsibility for that Pendwyr girl, though... **

**Chapter Fifty-Six:** **Do Not Sleep, Star of My Eyes**

That 'best sleep of my life' was a bit of an exaggeration, at least partly. It was deep sleep, for sure, but I paid for it being on a narrow, hard mattress, holding myself almost entirely motionless, not daring to move much. I am sure there are some who are familiar with of what I speak, and might smile at my discomfort; but then and there I only knew that I woke with a deep ache in my neck, my back hurt as if I was lifting heavy logs…and whenever I wanted to move a limb, it either slid off the bed or there was someone else in the way.

And light was coming in through the blinds on the small window already, and there was movement on the corridor, and I was still in my clothes from yesterday _in someone else's room_.

"Gods." It came out of me in a muffled groan and I sat up at the edge of the bed, trying to shove my hair out of my face and to get that crick out of my neck at the same time. "I know what my first order as Captain is going to be…"

"Hmm?" I turned as I felt him move; naturally, he was completely awake from the first moment he opened his eyes. However, his hair looked just as tousled as mine. "And that would be…?"

"Procuring wider beds and better mattresses." I stood up and did a few stretching exercises out of habit and desperation. "I am no fit for anything this way."

Casavir muffled a chuckle and cleared his throat.

"About appearances, now…" he started, and I blushed.

"Stop it." I stood up, hands on hips and glared at him, keenly aware of my rumpled attire. "Whatever you want to say, it would just make it much, much worse." I raked my fingers through my hair again. "And…"

Dammit, this is ridiculous, I thought. I am Captain Pendwyr now, not some blushing farm girl from the swamps tumbled into a knight's bed for a quick dalliance. _Man up, Arrighan, and be your relentlessly practical self, will you?_

"And so…" I gestured towards where his small portable Tyr shrine was already all set up in the corner, trying to sound brisk,"…I am thinking: devotions, morning practice, breakfast? Does that suit you?"

"Most admirably." The corners of his mouth tilted up slightly. I had to realize from the way his aura trembled around the edges that he was just as uncertain about this as I, and took my evasion with great relief. "Including the bit about the mattresses." he added, rubbing his shoulder with a slight frown, and I grinned sympathetically.

I daresay we both rushed through our prayers that morning, although on my part it was all the more heartfelt. I included wordless thanks to Tyr about what transpired between us: engagement or no, I knew we still had a lot to learn about each other, and figuring out a simple thing such as how to sleep next to each other without any other intimacies was… Well, I thought it was actually much harder than it might have seemed prior to it actually happening. I also tried really, really hard not to think about how it might be when we finally _arrived_ to said intimacies…but it seemed very wrong to include that in a prayer to one's god, understanding and kind he might have been about the fumbling-abouts of His Chosen.

Unfortunately, with my fair skin, I do blush very easily. As I made the sign of the sword above my heart the last time and stood up, I caught Casavir watching me, and noticed that he also had a faint sheen of red on his cheeks. Our thoughts, apparently, must have strayed off the path of pious contemplation into the same direction.

"I see." I muttered, my human side gaining the better of me yet again. "Neither of us are in a… pious mood this morning, then."

"So Tyr help me…" His startled laugh ignited small sparkles all across my aura. "You know me already all too well, _meum mel_." He caught my hand between his and bowed over it, lips brushing my skin lightly. "And a good morning to you, my lady."

"Always a good one with you, my lord." I answered without thinking, feeling that light touch down to my toes and relishing it with my eyes half-lidded for a second or two. I cleared my throat. "Um, now, well…"

Ah, the relentlessly practical details of mornings. Casavir had a small dressing screen in the corner of his room, hiding a washbasin on a stand and a jug of very cold water, and we both partake of it, taking turns and spending half the time turned away from the screen staring at the wall. At the end, there was nothing to it, but asking him for a clean shirt for myself; he handed it to me over the top of the screen, accidentally rattling it enough that it almost fell over and I, for a second, didn't know if I should grab the shirt first and clutch it to me to hide my nakedness, or steady the screen instead. We ended up laughing helplessly: he instinctively jumped back and turned his face away, as it turned out, and the screen held.

"Mmm." He nodded as I finally came out, handing me my jacket and smoothing a hand gently over the ruffles of my shirt. "Lace indeed does suit you well, my lady."

I swatted at him, half-heartedly.

"Hush, now. You might just not get back this shirt if you flatter me so."

"Paladins." He deadpanned, bowing slightly. "No lies."

"Indeed." I took a deep breath. "And speaking about that…" I pulled at the chain at my throat and unclasped it, sliding the ring off and offering it to him on my palm. "I think it is time for this to get on my finger. Will you do it?"

He went still for a second, his gaze intense on me. I felt my knees go weak; the storm in the depths of his eyes was all swirling hues of azure and silver, barely held behind that steel bar of self-control. I had no intentions of shattering it today for him, truly, but I had to realize just how close I've gotten to doing exactly that with this request as I saw him sway a bit and close his eyes for a second, swallowing slowly.

"Always." he said finally, breaking the silence stretching between us. His touch was gentle but firm: the ring slid on my finger as if it always belonged. "Thank you…" he added, his voice growing thick with emotion. "My lady. For this, and for staying, that is. I realize this is not the proper way of…"

"Proper." I think I made a rude sound. "Casavir, I think I am _done_ with proper right now." There was no hesitation in me as I wound my arms around his neck and kissed him; there was no hesitation in him as he returned it, fingers tightening on my shoulder. Suddenly the god's light was back, lit fierce and joyous in me like a beacon of hope: and I knew I'd done the right thing.

I let go of him reluctantly, and stepped back a bit.

"We have work to do, and you and I are Chosen and Champion." I said, trying in vain to keep my voice from shaking. Dammit, the man indeed had a disastrous effect on me: but I had to realize, I didn't mind. Not a bit. "People are counting on us: where we slept has nothing to do with that. "I lifted my head and kept my hand entwined with his firmly. "Let's go and start making sure evil doesn't have a foot on which to stand."

And that's just what we did pretty much all day, ignoring the Significant Glances we've received from basically everyone we've met…word travels fast in a small space such as this manor house was, but I couldn't afford to pay attention to any of that. We ended up separated after an hour or so anyways: I sent him to see Kana and her rosters of garrison duty and training, as my second-in-command, while I trudged up to the Keep itself to seek out Master Architect Veedle and his plans for rebuilding. That took quite a while, and what with one thing and other after that the day went by rather quickly. I almost didn't notice the passing of time until I was back in my room with a stack of missives and orders to write for couriers to be sent and there was a knock on my door.

"Yes?" I called out loud, scratching my nose absentmindedly with my ink-stained finger. "If it's any more paperwork, I am fair buried in it as is, thank you very much." I was in front of the desk someone scrounged up from who knows where: it was massive and ancient, with scrollwork carvings on the sides. The chair that went with it was obviously made for someone with much more bulk than I, enough so that I was able to pull up my legs and curl them under. I kicked off my boots and stockings a while back while trying to compose an assessment of the Keep's current and future defensive capabilities.

"Actually, it is your dinner." Casavir backed into the room carefully, maneuvering a tray loaded with enough food to feed an army. "I am told by Mrs. Bornell that if you forget to appear for dinner once again, she'll be inclined to think the Captain doesn't care for her cooking."

"Oh, gods." I stared at the tray, dismayed. "I had no idea it was that late, I am so sorry...Is it mandatory, then, for me to be there for dinner?"

"Normally, if you're present at your residence, it is expected." Casavir nodded, understanding at once what I meant by the question. "If you desire to take your meal in a more private setting, sending word to your staff is customary; it takes the guesswork out of everyone's evening."

I hung my head: there I was again, demonstrating for everyone that I was utterly ignorant in the ways of higher society and my new-found status.

"It is all right." he said gently, sensing my discomfort. "I told her you are most likely tied up with paperwork and offered to make sure you're fed."

"Um...thank you?" I offered, still embarrassed by my gaffe. "Goodness gracious." I said slowly as I uncurled myself. "I have no idea how long I was sitting there, I am stiff as a board."

And I was hungry, too, as to my even greater embarrassment, my stomach started to growl ferociously at the sight of piles of roast chicken pieces, mounds of potatoes and carrots, and steaming biscuits slathered with butter. A small sauce boat contained gravy speckled with flecks of black pepper: a clear sign that I was indeed up and coming in the world. Pepper was a spice for nobility, imported all the way from Chult or some other place like it. And there was pie, too: two lovely slices of apple pie with sweet cream.

"May all the gods bless Mrs. Bornell, this is lovely." I said quickly, trying to mask the sound of my stomach. "Seriously: you'll need to help me with it. I hope you haven't eaten yet...?" I asked, nervously, and I was rewarded by one of his slow smiles. "Oh, good. " I said sincerely relieved, breaking off a piece of chicken and stuffing it in my mouth unceremoniously. "Let's eat, then."

And so we dined in my room with its haphazard furniture, after our second day away from Neverwinter. There was an old and worn rug in front of the fireplace large enough to accommodate both of us, so we curled up in front of the fire much similarly to that last evening at his house. We cleaned up everything on that tray, so Mrs. Bornell had no reason to be annoyed with me, including a small flask of crisp Waterdhavian white wine to go with the chicken. My toes were nicely toasty in front of the fire, and my insides were growing glowy from the wine: I had to admit, this being-a-captain business wasn't that bad. Of course that thought immediately reminded me to the report I was working on when Casavir knocked; and so, fueled by the glow of the wine, I didn't hesitate asking his opinion about the matter. We spent some time discussing siege basics: it always amazed me just how far his education stretched—the man even knew about different stones and their hardness, used for building.

"Just when did you learn about that?" I had to ask. "I didn't realize chapterhouse education extended to..."

"It isn't." He toyed with a piece of biscuit in a way that by now told me that this was another chapter of his past of which he wasn't particularly fond. "I spent some time in Port Last during my...absence from the City. You know their chief commodity is building stones from their quarries. I had to, out of necessity, learn somewhat about the... goods I was protecting."

"Protecting. " I repeated slowly, leaning against his shoulder. "Casavir, I don't mean to pry, but..."

"'Tis no prying, _meum mel_." He sighed. "After all, you have every right knowing about all the things that befell me. Noble or not, paladin or not, you have to eat –and they pay well, those merchants in Port Last, for caravan guards."

"Caravan guards." I really, honestly felt stupefied: Tyr knows, I accepted all kinds of commissions during my travels to Neverwinter, and some of those probably would have raised eyebrows in the Halls of Justice, but... Casavir?

"Ten years." he reminded me, with a small, sad smile in the corner of his mouth. "I have been caravan escort, bodyguard, knight errant, weapon master...Did you truly think I've spent all that time around Old Owl Well? I might not believe in the superiority of my fighting skills overmuch, but if the orcs still would have held the Well after me being there that long, I surely would not deserve to be called our Lord's servant."

I made a face; if he thought that discouraged me, horrified me or in any way made me think less of him… I honestly thought to punch him right then and there.

"Oh no, I've just..." I finally just shrugged. "I guess I've never thought about it that much. I... realize those years were not the best ones of your life, so..."

"The best years of my life, I believe, are still ahead of me." he said slowly, taking my hands into his. "That is, if you are still willing to spend them with a former caravan guard."

"Idiot." I said fondly, my heartbeat speeding up in a rush as I leaned closer to him. "I know you, Korranos: you probably ended up saving some merchant's life six times over, slain monsters, rescued fair maidens, small children and their dogs and didn't take any money for it either."

"Just like you did between West Harbor and Neverwinter this past year, _meum mel_." He lifted my hand to his lips, eyes never leaving my face. "I believe, then, that neither of us has anything to complain about."

This was an entirely new side of him: I inhaled sharply as his lips played along the knuckles of my hand, exploring the hollows at the base of my fingers, the lines of my palm... I felt a brief pang of shame at the state of my hands. I've never considered this much before, but really, they reflected my life in West Harbor and as a paladin perfectly well: calloused, narrow but strong from the daily wielding of weapons, with all the small, white scars from past nicks, bruises and cuts, my nails all short and uneven, knuckles slightly red and swollen… No, my hand was definitely _not_ that of a noblewoman, and...

I couldn't help but gasp as he reached my inner wrist, and only partly in surprise. My thoughts fled in a haze of crimson and silver at his touch, his warm breath moving along on my suddenly oversensitive skin. It was an utterly exquisite sensation and a deep shudder racked my entire body in its wake. My head fell back and my eyes fluttered close: the fingers of my other hand knotted into his hair, drawing him up to my starving mouth with an almost violent motion that I couldn't control. _So that's how he feels about his ears_... was all I could think before even the last remnants of conscience fled and all that remained was sensations—arching up against each other, our lips and teeth and tongues clashing, demanding, wanting more, ever more...

Although my inadverted spell definitely played a part, I knew by then that it was only part of it. After all, like I so often liked to remind Casavir, I wasn't as sheltered as some of the daughters of nobles he might have met as suitable matches back in the days of his father. But while I definitely understood the, for lack of a better word, technical aspects of intimacy between a man and a woman, nothing could have prepared me to the intensity of emotions, sensations, and the pure, sheer power of _want_ and _need_ that also went with it. Maybe it was the highly intellectual Tyrran education I received from Aevan, the careful but distant fatherhood of Daeghun, or the rigorous exercise program with which I honed my body and mind from age twelve, or, hells, maybe all of that together, but the "_demands of the flesh_" as some of the Rules vaguely described it, never really entered my world until…well, until Casavir did.

And with him came _this_... It seemed that every time we were together, the pull of simply giving in to the sweet abandon of it grew stronger and stronger. My Tyrran mind, of course, somewhere deep in the recesses of me where reason withdrew, pointed out that it was only natural, that we were both young and healthy, denying these kind of emotions for way too long, and that I should just _shut up and stop thinking._..especially with his hands trailing under my shirt on my bare skin, sending sensations to the core of my being that had absolutely nothing to do with chastity and everything to do with _wanting to rip his clothes off right now and just taste him..._

"It's getting worse..." His voice was hoarse, playing alongside the corner of my mouth; I felt his hands slowly withdraw from my heated skin and I felt a pang of regret. "I don't..." He swallowed and my heart sunk as I heard the desperation in his timbre. "I am not sure if you should trust me anymore, _meum_ _mel_..."

"Crap." I said succinctly and sat up. Somehow we ended up on the rug in front of the fire: the dinner tray got kicked over and there was wine on the stone floor. "That's not the issue."

"Pardon?" He was flushed; I could only imagine how bad I must have looked. "I am not sure I..."

"Trust was never the issue, Casavir." I said, hugging my knees to my chest. "It's a bit more complex than that, I think." I made a face as I realized that I was analyzing the situation yet again, like a good Tyrran, or...

Or maybe it was more. I felt a chill run along my spine as I considered that maybe this was not _quite_ how an ordinary Tyrran's mind worked. I had, after all, my unknown celestial ancestry to contend with... and who knows how that worked?

It seemed that my mouth opened without me really consciously thinking about it: the words spilled out precise and clipped, almost analytical.

"_Pro primo_: we're both paladins, and thus having constrains on our wants and desires. _Pro secundo_: as Chosen and Champion, our duties and roles place us on an elevated pedestal that easily gives itself to aloofness and subliming basic desired that come natural to other people. _Pro tertio_: we both are woefully inexperienced. _Pro quarto_: that spell I unleashed, unknowing and unwitting, created a bond between us that seems to add to the strength of our emotions every time we're together." I took a breath as I continued, and felt the certainty of truth rise in my heart. Coldness spread in its wake, the crystalline clarity of stars and the void in between them. This was one of the aspects of being His Chosen that no one could have prepared me for: to know the faultlines of not only others' but one's own heart to the exacting degrees of the Just God. "_Pro quinto_: I am terrified that you'll find me ugly and rough and clumsy compared to all those fine women you might have had the opportunity to meet as a blueblood, and you..." I poked a finger into his chest as my human self desperately tried to reassert itself... "_You_ are still positively frightened of me."

"And you are wondering why?" His blue eyes were huge; he raked his fingers through his hair, already disheveled enough, but he wasn't denying what I said. "Arrighan... Do you have any idea just how disconcerting it is to hold you in my arms in one minute, forgetting about everything else but the scent of your skin and the softness of your hair, and hearing _that_ in the next minute...?" He made a gesture with his right hand that was once helpless and frustrated. "I don't...I don't know how to deal with that." he confessed and that admission, stark, desperate and bare in its simplicity alone was enough to chill my blood even more.

"Oh." I said, hugging my knees to my chest even more closely. "I'm…I'm not sure either." I felt miserable, and, as usual, I went for something lighter. "So: what then? We're just not going to touch each other anymore? I believe that normally would be rather detrimental to an engagement…" I bit my lips as he shook his head with a frown.

"You know, this might actually be easier if you were raised in a chapterhouse, like…" he started to say, and fell silent quickly, just as I started to bristle at the suspected implications of what he just said; it still stung, after all this time. But I bit back my acerbic reply, seeing the expression on his face: deep thoughts were flickering behind his eyelids, faster than lightning, as he sat there, looking at his hands clasped in his lap.

I waited: I learned early with Aevan that you never, ever try to interrupt a Tyrran's thinking. It was several minutes later that he finally looked up at me with a deep sigh.

"This is…complicated." That deep frown still marred his features and there was something in the way his shoulder bunched up under his shirt that signaled that whatever he was about to say made him uncomfortable. "I have to…start with some basics that you, despite your accomplishments might not be familiar with. Please forgive me…It seems that our problems have deeper roots that I've suspected."

"Just great." I muttered, my human side fully reasserting itself now. "Wouldn't be anything new now, would it?" I swept a few stray strands of my hair out of my eyes. "Sorry…" I said sheepishly. "I'll be good and shut up now. This has something to do with me being _imperfecta_, right?"

"Indeed, and something else, besides." He nodded. "We can remedy that one…I'd been granted the right to field test and dub new paladins back when I received my first Old Owl Well assignment as a special envoy of the order…and Prior Hlam reinforced that before we left the city scant days ago." I could see the practicality of that—for all intends and purposes, we were on our own here, a brand new outpost to reassert Neverwinter's dominance here, where the influence of the King of Shadows grew unseen for too long. I remembered from my studies with Aevan that border forts and such were often having a law of their own, and whatever clerics or paladins, guardians of many faiths lived amongst their defenders, they always had special rights due to the isolated nature of their assignments. "But while your training has been completed a long time ago… due to you not being raised in a chapterhouse, you are unfamiliar with some of our traditions and customs."

"Such as?" I sat up straighter: I wasn't sure where this was heading, but I knew we'd arrive there sooner or later. And if this helped our little…problem, hells, I was willing to listen to him for hours if needed to be.

"The Path of the Silver Fire… has two parts." he said slowly, measuring his words with care. "I didn't quite think you were ready for the second one yet, since you never…" He stopped, reconsidered, and started again. "The second part of the Path is for paladins who… choose another to complete them. "

That was an odd choice of words, sounding way too formal, but as I mulled them over, I thought I understood their meaning.

"Fighting in pairs?" I asked, feeling my brows draw down in thought. "Is that why you are paired as novices in the chapterhouses?" I didn't ask why he never told me about the second part before: you learn early as a student that you only need to know what and when your master chooses to tell you. With Aevan as my teacher, it was doubly so, since I only saw him twice a year.

"It's…not that simple." he said, and I noticed a faint coloring on his cheeks. "This is a very…rare school, as you know, and the origins of the style are rather obscure. Some argue that the tradition of pairing novices up for training originated precisely from the possibility of training _every_ paladin in this style, but the opinions are… widely divided since, like I said, this school's practitioners are… limited in number, and most of them only complete the first part nowadays anyway." He took a deep breath. "I was… Eaydra and I were chosen to start our training in the second, secret school very shortly after we…"

"I see." I said slowly as I tried to comprehend. "So you're not simply paired with your partner in this, but you're actually a…couple?" Something occurred to me and I caught myself blushing, too. "Regardless of gender, I assume?"

"Precisely." There was a tiny easing of the tension in his shoulders. "It creates a lifetime bond that literally only death can break apart. It makes the two of you the extensions and compliments of each other, the two halves of a whole, like the two sides of Tyr's scale, the edges of His sword, or the heads of His warhammer." He swallowed. "We…would have been the first ones chosen in a long time, with her. In a generation, to be precise."

I weighed that for a second before my next question.

"Your teacher?" I took care of keeping my voice calm, despite the clearly uncomfortable subject. I didn't want to give Casavir the impression that talking about Eaydra and their past was unwelcome. "Obviously you had someone to initiate the two of you, tell you about the second part of the path, give you instructions from the beginning… otherwise you would not have been even able to teach me this far, right?" He nodded. "And I don't think it's anyone who resides in the Halls of Justice right now."

"You are very perceptive, as always, my lady. " I stifled a sigh; we were, at least for the time being, back to formalities. _Well, if this is what he needs to look at things objectively, regain his footing and come up with something that makes it work between us with my stupid spell mucking everything up even further…_ my human side snickered. "It was Mother Hadewiga."

"I see." Obviously there was a story there, something that explained how she ended up leaving Neverwinter to take up an inquisitor's mantle in Waterdeep, but just as obviously it wasn't important right now. "And you think… this would offer us a solution?" I wasn't quite sure why that discomfort was still there in his posture, but I figured he'd arrive to that sooner or later. I just had to be patient.

Right.

"First we'd need to complete your paladin initiation." He hesitated. "And… there are some…exercises that are the core of the training to bond the pair together even more." I watched him closely. There it was: the core of his discomfort.

"Casavir." I said quietly, reaching across the distance between us and letting my hand fall onto his. "Could you speak a bit more plainly, please? Just pretend I don't know anything…not that it's far from the truth." I added with a little smile.

"I am sorry." His fingers were cold as he squeezed my hand briefly, but he didn't pull away. "It's just… obviously, after Eaydra's death, I didn't even think I'd ever… and now that I have you, I must confess, I am strangely hesitant to take this step, even though the more I think about it, the more I am convinced this is the correct path." He looked at me and my throat went tight, there was so much longing and tenderness in his gaze. "You and I are clearly… not ready for…" he cleared his throat and blushed a bit as he said it, "…erm, physical intimacies yet, despite the obvious…um…"

"Yes." I said, my impatience finally showing. "Yes. _Obviously_. We take one step forward, and then two back, and it's mostly my fault for starting the whole thing with my spell to make the bond between us so much stronger and much more…physical." And I was putting it mildly. We would normally, as I understood, be able to resist the…for lack of the better words, temptations of the flesh much better due to our discipline as paladins, but what with the spell weaving our already existing bonds even tighter, it got harder and harder every time we were close and let our boundaries down just a little bit. It was a self-feeding cycle and Casavir was right: something had to be done about it. Although he never actually said it, my inadvertent magic clearly was much more potent than I thought the first time.

"Then we keep pushing it, and I have absolutely no idea what I am doing despite my theoretical knowledge of the subject, but wanting it anyway. Wanting you, I mean." I added after a moment's hesitation before continuing. "And there's something in this secret school of the path that's connected to this, and you know what it is but it makes you extremely uncomfortable, so you might as well just come out and tell me so we're over it and I can start sputtering and tell you 'hells no' and break a couple of vases on your head before I kick you out of my room." I exhaled forcefully. "There. Does that make you feel better?"

"No." he said almost reflexively, with the paladin honesty the direct question required and which made me, inexorably, wanting to pat his head and say 'daww'. "No, it does not. Nevertheless, you might indeed want to do that once I am finished, in truth, so let me…" He swallowed and threaded his fingers through mine. "Those united on the Second Way of the Path of the Silver Fire are, the teachings say, one in mind, body and soul. Each has its own way and its own time to be shared and joined." He looked at our joined hands in his lap as if he was gathering strength from the way my palm fitted into his. "The way you and I can feel each other's mood, and see the colors of each other's aura…while that's largely due to the spell, the spell itself, in the original version of the Ertorian Cycle, was part of the soul-joining ritual of the Second Way."

I remembered our discussions about ancient legends and their versions, and my mouth went a bit dry.

"Let me see if I get this: I unknowingly performed a ritual from the Second Way of the Path of Silver Fire, the way I performed those exercises back when we returned from Old Owl Well?" He nodded. "And this was preserved in corrupted form in a romance cycle that you can get at street vendors for some silver?" I could feel my eyebrows go all the way up to my hairline, it sounded to incredible.

"_Meum mel_, you have to understand… to most people, even in our own order, this is nothing but…_literature_." He sounded a bit exasperated. "The pure ritual is preserved in detail by the initiates of the Second Way, copied down from the uncorrupted original versions of the Ertorian Cycle. But there are further problems. The soul-joining is the _final_ step in completing the perfect companions." He paused. "Not the first."

"Oh." I started to feel like I was clearly out of my element. "I guess I jumped ahead a bit, then…" I bit my lips. "So what's the correct order? Can you share that?" I suspected this was the destination towards which we were traveling with this entire conversation.

"First you need to be made full paladin formally." he said slowly; he always chose his words with care, but now it was doubly so. "We need to observe all the rites, so there should be no rushing it. As Khelgar should be arriving soon with the second contingent of our supplies and personnel, he can assist me as another servant of Tyr. Rededicating the chapel in the castle, unfortunately, has to wait until a full cleric of Our Lord can make the trip, so this will be a field ceremony only, but it should be valid. I am sure Our Lord will be present… and what else can we ask?"

He bowed his head for a minute in silent prayer and I followed suit. I felt the familiar silver presence of Him envelop us gently and reassuringly, and some of the tension in the put of my stomach eased.

"And so, after that…" Casavir continued after we finished the prayer, "your formal Second Way training should begin. The first step is, always, the declaration of intent and then the exercises to…open the mind, for lack of better world." His discomfort was palpable. "I shall dispatch some missives to Mother Hadewiga for guidance as soon as possible on how to proceed after that…that's as far as my training ever progressed."

"Mind-opening exercises." I said slowly, tasting the words, trying to figure out why this had him in such a discomfort. "That doesn't sound much different than the ones you learn with your first spells, to channel the divine energy…"

"Except in this case it's a very different energy you channel, _meum mel_." I tilted my head, questioningly and he continued, still not quite meeting my eyes. "When two people…become one…it's not merely a joining of bodies in the most common, base sense. It's definitely a higher level of theology and mysticism that most paladins ever get exposed to, but the basis of the Second Way is, to put it as simply as possible, to harness the energies of creation and divine that exist in all of us and which are shared in the moments two people unite."

"Mind, body and soul." I repeated what he said earlier, my voice cracking up a bit. I started to comprehend. "That would be the correct order, right?"

"By letting you into my mind and you opening your mind for me we prepare for the union of the body, and that, in turn, shows the way for the soul." That, also, sounded like something from a holy text…I shivered a bit from the way his voice seemed to be sliding along my skin.

A memory invaded: the way my powers rose up unbidden and powerful by seeing his broken and burned skin after he took the heat of the exploding githyanki portal for me, the way the silver lance of my power thrust out of me and into him, bathing his being in silver and reknitting his flesh and skin while I clutched at his shoulder and tried to control the waves of energy coming from the very core of my being, energies of creation and divine from me into him…

"I think I know now." I whispered and, as I looked at him, I saw that he remembered, too. He drew me to him, gently but irresistibly, with his gaze as much as his arms; I still shivered from the understanding that settled over me like an enormous silver-and-blue cloud. "I am afraid, Casavir."

"Don't be, _meum mel_. Don't be." He tried to sound reassuring; but the way he held me tight told otherwise.

We were on uncharted waters, in a brand new ship…I don't think either of us slept well in the next couple of days while we sorted out the start of a new border fort and awaited Khelgar's arrival. I tried to concentrate on organizing my affairs as best as I could so I can depart for West Harbor in time to be there for Greengrass. It was an almost impossible feat, but I decided to make it work. I needed a firm timeline, I realized; otherwise I'll keep putting it off forever. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed prudent that it would _not_ merely be a quick run with no one but Casavir and Khelgar… my new status as Commander of Crossroad Keep required an entourage, and since our trip would take us through several locations I've visited previously, I decided to make it a kind of a recruitment trip as well. My new keep desperately needed people, skilled people: after instituting a meeting of my closest staff every firstday, I had to realize just how enormous this task I was entrusted with was, and how grateful I had to be for everyone who decided to stick with me in this endeavor. I found an old map of Neverwintan territories in the stack of official papers I was given by Nevalle, and it became a permanent fixture on my desk, with several small pieces of papers stacked next to it regarding the route we'd take, places we'd stop and people I'd need to talk to. I also dispatched some messages to where I knew I would not be able to go just yet. Haeromos in Port Llast needed to be notified regarding our need for copious amounts of stone for Master Veedle's, so when one of the apprentice stonemasons set out to get the first shipment, I gave him a letter for Calindra, the miner I've met there to see if she could work for me—I also included a sketch of locales I've encountered ore deposits during my various trips (this was Elanee's suggestion and I was thrilled that she remembered). I also sent a letter to Callum at Old Owl Well with my belated thanks regarding his help during my trial, and a request to release Katriona, Casavir's former sergeant from his service and send her to Crossroad Keep to take up training the new recruits: I needed Ballard and his crew to start road patrols to prevent further degradation of security between us, Highcliff and Fort Locke.

Casavir and I renewed our sparring exercises despite the demands on both of our time; we desperately needed the distraction, and sheer physical exhaustion seemed to be a very good remedy for the short term. After a few days, we noticed some of the recruits sneaking around and peeking at us despite the early hours, and I had a word with Captain Ballard about it. It seemed that we had some talented youngsters who were interested enough in sword and shieldwork on a higher level and were able to more or less follow the intricacies of the complicated dance of death the two of us wove in the sand of the training ground.

"I noticed it too." Ballard rubbed his chin in thought. "I suppose I could get those couple o'lads some extra lessons myself, and see if they stick with the beyond-the-basic training."

"That's how it starts." Casavir murmured: I could almost see the thoughts spinning behind his smooth forehead. "Captain, if you would draw up a roster with the names and their current schedules, please…I shall see if I can talk to some others from additional fields of expertise regarding this."

And thus the Commander's Own have started, mere weeks into our arrival, although the group only acquired that name much later. There weren't many at first, maybe half a dozen, but their number grew in the months that followed, although it always remained a small cadre of men and women. Their training was rigorous and far reaching, ranging from formation training to small unit tactics with Ballard, subterfuge and nighttime operations with Neeshka, bare-hands combat with Khelgar once he arrived (with numerous carts full of supplies, people, and Duncan and Shandra to boot), and several other fields of violence. Casavir himself took the field with them a couple of times: drawing on his time as a guerilla leader at Old Owl Well, he taught them about the basics of operating in enemy territory and organization skills as potential small unit leaders. I wasn't quite sure how, but he managed to con Bishop into giving them lessons in wilderness survival, even…I told him I didn't ever want to know how he managed to do that, and he, with a completely blank face, simply said that maybe that's for the best. I didn't push any further, although I noticed the next day that Mrs. Ballard, during serving dinner, was muttering awfully loud about some 'large hunks of barely cooked beef and those butterhorn pastries that take forever to get so flaky' she had to make 'special' and how 'some things are just wasted on certain people'. That cause me to snicker rather loudly into my stew, but I think I managed to turn that into a cough before anyone noticed.

As order started to emerge from chaos and uncertainty, my initiation ceremony also drew near. And that caused a little friction regarding one obscure rule Casavir insisted on keeping.

"My hair?" I asked incredulously. 'You want to do _what_ with my hair now?"

"It needs to get cut." He pressed his lips together stubbornly. "It is a sign of vanity and pride in the eyes of tradition, and thus it needs to…"

"No. The hair stays. We can cut an inch off." I interjected firmly, holding my hand protectively over my head. "As a symbol." I raised my voice. "I said, no, Casavir." I wasn't sure why this firm rejection facing centuries of rules and regulations, but my celestial side was sending me all kinds of warning signals and so far I was never let astray by it. "If this means we have to write to Father Prior for dispensation from an archaic rule no one understands any more, then I'll get my pen to paper right now. The hair stays."

After more than an hour of arguments back and forth which gave Khelgar a severe headache even though he was merely listening, Casavir finally acquiesced, and was content with my losing about an inch from my hair in exchange for me writing a long letter to Prior Hlam asking for official absolution—which delayed the whole process even further.

But the day arrived, finally, when I kneeled in front of the humble chapel we set up using Casavir's portable altar, and, with closed eyes, endured my haircut. The chant of prayers Khelgar and Casavir wove above me was almost as if I was dreaming. It was late in the evening, and I was fasting since I rose at dawn, kneeling in solemn vigil in this room for hours, so everything was a bit fragile and out of focus, heightening all of my senses and directing me away from worldly matters.

"And so it happened that you came in front of us asking to be admitted into the most holy order of Tyr, the Maimed God, to be His warrior and servant." Casavir intoned solemnly when I rose to face the two of them. "Have you considered well, good sister, that you wish to be a serf and slave of the Order and leave behind your own will forever to do another's? Do you wish to suffer all the hardships which are established for His holy warriors and carry out all the orders you will be given?"

"I do." I answered as prescribed, nodding solemnly. My head felt light; I focused on staying upright and moving as little as possible.

"Are you in good health, without obligations to another god or order, ready to serve Our Lord in coming and going, in need and plenty, wherever and whenever He calls you to do His will?"

"I am."

This was the shortened field ceremony Casavir was authorized to conduct; there was no long list of questions from various dignitaries, no series of prayers and chants to stretch the process out. I rested my eyes on the small table substituting for an altar table, upon which my sword and the plain blue mantle of a Tyrran paladin, sent by Prior Hlam with his dispensation letter, lain. Now Casavir took them up, spreading the cloak upon my shoulder as I knelt again.

"Then in accordance with the powers that our order vested in me as Our Lord's humble servant temporarily acting as His hand, having witnessed your deeds and looked into your heart, I deem you worthy of wearing the cloak of a paladin of Tyr, Arrighan Pendwyr." The silver clasp of the cloak formed a small shield with Tyr's silver scales wrought on it. "May it shelter you from harm and bring you the warmth of His power to aid those in need."

Next came my sword belt around my waist; I could almost feel the power in my blade reacting to the silver tide of my own rising slowly, while the weight of the belt anchored me in reality again.

"This is the sword of His justice. Wield it in defense of those dispossessed, and never draw it unjustly." Casavir's hands rested on the sides of my head and I felt the kiss of welcome on my forehead. "From this day forward, you are fully in His house, and will dwell there until your days' end, and beyond. Welcome, sister."

"Welcome, sister." Khelgar rumbled, giving me a generous slap on the shoulder that rocked me back on my heels. "An' let this be the last unjust blow you suffer, or let anyone else suffer."

"I…thank you, brother." I wheezed, carefully moving my shoulder in his socket, making sure no bone broke or muscle got torn. The solemnity of the moment clearly passed as I looked into my oldest traveling companion's laughing eyes. "I shall never forget your teaching."

"I def'nitely'd hope so." Khelgar winked at me, solid and unmoving as a rock; strangely lean-looking without his armor and weapons. "So: is there any food left in that larder, y'think?"

All three of us joined in laughter at that, and our hands clasped together in a shared moment of unity in front of Our Lord's altar: I understood then again, that He never was that stern and unyielding deity some made him out to be, and my heart lifted despite the myriad worries that plagued me those days.

And worries I had aplenty, as my rigidly enforced day of departure for my trip neared. The journey—we sometimes jokingly called it The Commander's Progress- vastly evolved by now: it encompassed a longer stop at Highcliff and Fort Locke to recruit for volunteers for my Grelycloaks and to see if my prospective armorsmith and weaponsmith were still available; to check on Shandra's farm and see if any of her old tenant were willing to relocate to the Keep's lands to revive the village; to deliver a small box of money that Khelgar brought with him from the Lathander temple in Neverwinter to Brother Merring in West Harbor…the list kept going on and on…

To add to the frustrations , Zhjaeve has warned me one evening in her usual cryptic way not to forget about my mission to the Ruins of Arvahn, the Illefarn city where apparently some weapons to combat the King of Shadows were hidden. At least that's what I _thought_ she meant: as usual, the githzerai was distant and mysterious, keeping mostly to her room with some tomes of lore Aldanon lent her before our departure from the City. When she finally left me alone, she managed to extract a promise from me that we'll incorporate the ruins to the end of the trip somehow. I had this vague idea that we could send the 'Cloaks back to the Keep from West Harbor with the supplies and our recruits, while me, Zhjaeve and whoever from my little band wanted to accompany us would continue on.

I stared at my map where she marked the location of the ruin until my eyes went blurry, and my mind finally threw up the shards of a memory, fragile and barely discernible beyond layers of pain and loss: _Amie talking about how Tarmas adventured in his youth up to the eastern hills of the Sword Coast, and finding the ruins of some elven city of old with a weird name_.

I realized why the name of the ancient city bothered me deep down…and as another piece of the puzzle fell in place, I know that Tyr has just given me another reason to return to the place I still called home.

"Was that _Arvahn_?" I whispered to the silence of my room, trying to remember. I didn't like where my train of thoughts took me, not a bit. "Is this why Tarmas decided to hide in West Harbor and spend the rest of his days brewing love potions and remedies for colic?" I leaned closer to the map and tapped the parchment next to the section of the Mere where West Harbor was marked. "Just what did you find in those ruins, old wizard?"


	57. For Honor And Good Name

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**Author Notes:**

**The border song I am using in this chapter is a 17****th**** century Hungarian poem by Balint Balassi, aptly titled 'Soldiers' Song'. It is about the life of those soldiers who lived and fought on the border of Hungary against the invading Ottoman Turks. There is a great rendition of it on YouTube by the band 'Misztral' in case you're interested, and that's the version I had playing while writing.**

**The other two songs I used for this chapter were Sarah McLachlan's **_**Rivers of Love**_** from her **_**Laws of Illusion**_** album, and Loreena McKennitt's version of **_**As I Roved Out **_**from her new album **_**The Wind that Shakes the Barley.**_

**And the usual disclaimer: I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin. I take full responsibility for that Pendwyr girl, though... **

**Chapter Fifty-Seven: For Honor And Good Name**

I got more and more nervous as we neared West Harbor.

The Captain's Progress, as we now officially referred to the entire, overblown and overstaffed trip that I originally planned as my quick runaway back home to pay my respects to Retta Starling and bring the ashes of her son home; the Captain's Progress, this nightmare _thing_ that involved half a dozen Greycloaks, several of my companions who declared that _of course they wish to accompany me to my charming homeland_ or something to that effect, a multitude of tents, carts and more stops along the way that I really cared for; the Captain's Progress that saw me cursing way more than it would have befitted my newfound status but which, strangely, earned me even more admiration from my Greycloaks; the Captain's Progress that saw me standing, jaw hanging open, dumbstruck, as for the first time my new banner with its brand new coat-of-arms unfurled on the morning winds next to Neverwinter's colors, carried by one of my newest recruits at the head of our column; the Captain's Progress moved on, inexorably, like a tide, passing through Highcliffe and Fort Locke, sweeping up new recruits with it like little pieces of flotsam from a beach, drawing crowds and ending up being the event of the spring in those communities. I've shaken more hands than I've ever before, gave speeches I've never thought I could do until my voice grew hoarse and downed more drinks than I really cared for-paladin constitution and immunity to poisons and various illnesses came extremely handy in those days. All of my companions who decided to accompany me on this trip and what came afterwards agreed that I did a passable job as a representative of Neverwinter and a beacon of hope in times of uncertainty, but my heart, I must confess, grew heavier and heavier from what I had to hear from all those who talked to me. Despite the fact that during our trip to the City last year we cleaned out Shadow Priests and undead from various locations near those settlements, unease, growing anxiety and lingering fear remained. The lizardmen continued their migration out of the Mere of Dead Men in increasing numbers, it was reported; orcs were seen moving out of their semi-permanent villages and camps south of Old Owl Well, the Luskan border witnessed increased activity from suspiciously well-organized bandits… My instincts screamed at me to get this whole circus turned around and start adventuring again: smiting evil and protecting innocents definitely sounded like something that was sorely needed these days.

Instead, there I was, persistent aura, paladin charisma and all, playing crowds like a... _politician_. In this, I had the most unusual help in the person of one ex-Dockside shopkeeper. Sand, yet again, proved that he was much more than an occasional peddler in love potions or hangover cures. Despite his often-voiced dislike of countryside and traveling, he endured the journey, the dust of the road, noisy camps and the food cooked and served by Greycloaks, although, one must admit, he never ceased complaining about any of those and a myriad other things besides. Along with those complaints, however, he wrote entire speeches on the fly, made me read them out loud and practice in the evenings as we made camp, prepared honey potions to soothe my aching throat, gave me advice how to move and how not to when addressing crowds, sorted through my meager wardrobe and sniffed in disdain as he decided what I was supposed to wear for which occasion and made sure that my newly appointed page, Andoras, son of Corporal Rowley who recently relocated to Crossroad Keep from the City, polished my armor to a proper shine at the end of every day.

"Appearances and illusion, dear girl, appearances and illusion." he said after I thanked him as we left Fort Locke. "Smoke and mirrors is what we wizards do best, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. I have no delusions regarding my profession." He sniffed and flicked an imaginary piece of dirt off the sleeve of his silk robe. "Even though I am one of the best in what I do."

"And, no doubt, the humblest, eh?" Khelgar muttered, making sure it was loud enough that we all heard it.

"Some of us, Master Dwarf, don't have to resort to violence to get our points across." Sand retorted, with slightly wrinkled forehead. "Diplomacy is one of our dear leader's best talents, but her inexperience in public speaking and appearances, alas, requires careful assistance from someone who…"

"What ye saying is that ye came with us on Nevalle's orders to make sure we all behave?" Khelgar snorted. A couple of months' training in Tyr's Halls of Justice as a monk didn't do much to improve the dwarf's people skills, it seemed. Even though, of course, he was likely right. "Say what ye want, Little 'Un, the high and mighty doesn't trust us, nae a bit."

"Nah, it's fine, Khel." I shook my head, flushing a bit as I felt Casavir's gaze from across our moving column. "I thought about this a lot in the past days, and you know…" I struggled to try to put it in words, the feelings I just barely sorted out last night. "I might be hating this whole being a show pony and giving speeches thing, and you all might think I'm getting swallowed by the big machine of Neverwintan politics… but you know what counts?" I looked Khelgar straight in the eye until he started squirming on the back of his pony. "What we're doing… Khel,we're giving people _hope_."

"They _see_ her…" Sand added, with considerably less acid in his voice than usual. "They saw her at Highcliff, in Fort Locke, in those small villages in-between. They hear about Crossroad Keep, and they remember what she did when she first came across these parts, and how she cleaned up the worst parts of the City, too, and how she took on Luskans who wanted to, yet again, meddle in the affairs of Neverwinter. People in these parts might be backwards and concerned only with their own affairs, but they do know what it means that a paladin of Tyr, and Heavens-touched besides, was granted the task of reviving the borders after they were being neglected for decades due to the aftermaths of the Luskan wars." He waved a hand vaguely in the air, with that special elven gesture of his. "Master dwarf, that talk about 'shining beacon of hope' where paladins are concerned? Our dear girl here really takes it seriously, and people do take notice. The fact that Lord Nasher and his Nine are taking advantage of it…?" Sand shrugged gracefully. "At the end, this only helps Arrighan help others. Not to mention that it provides us with roof above our head, excellent food, and the opportunity to tour the charming parts of the countryside, meet fascinating people and learn about their quaint customs." He smoothed a crease down on his cuff. "Even, Heavens forbid, kill some riffraff and practice our trade on occasion …so why do you mind?"

"I never would have thought that Khelgar could look that…chastised after something Sand had said." I confessed to Casavir later that day. We were setting up camp, the last one before, according to my estimate, we reach West Harbor by next evening. Well, that 'we' was an exaggeration: I mostly tried to stay out of the way of my 'Cloaks busily bustling about. They didn't let me to do any of the more mundane tasks any more, not even dealing with my own tent and gear.

Andoras passed us by, carrying a bundle of this-and-that, looking way too intent on his task of not dropping anything. I waved at him but he didn't even notice me, so focused he was on his task. I shook my head, amused: he was, more or less, in a perpetual state of awestruck from the fact that, at the end, I indeed had acquired a castle and that he, indeed had become my page.

_I always keep my promises_.

"I would think, _meum mel_, that our Khelgar has still a long road ahead of him on the path of the Even-handed." Casavir's voice raised me from my thoughts: he looked towards the campfire where our dwarven friend was busy arguing with Neeshka about how big they should slice the mushrooms that went into the dinner pot. Now _that_ was more like old times, despite the fact that he was wearing a monk's habits. "Which is why mayhap he was sent on this journey with you, and to stay in the Keep. I believe it is tradition amongst the monks of Tyr to go out in the world to further their path…" He hesitated before continuing, his voice shifting to a tone of concern. "I am sorry if this brings up bad memories. I know that your mother…"

"It's quite all right." I sighed: him delicately dancing around the issue of my parentage was certainly appreciated. "Whatever my mother was doing when I was conceived, I am sure I'll find out eventually. " I tapped my foot on the ground. "I can always ask my foster-father to share a little bit more than he did before."

"And this, no doubt, fills you with such confidence." Casavir pointed out. "I know you a fair bit by now, _meum mel_—you are deeply concerned by something regarding our return to your home. I would suspect it has something to do with you bringing the ashes of a son back to his mother, but that must only be one part of it."

"Tyrran." I murmured under my nose, the tension in my shoulders easing a bit hearing the concern in his voice. "Perceptive as ever." I scooted closer to him as we sat on a log not far from one of the campfires. "I could say that as a soon as you meet Daeghun, you'll understand why I am so nervous, but…" I shrugged. "On one hand, I 'made it good' out in the world, as Georg Redfell undoubtedly will say as soon as he sees me—and that will please most of the villagers that ever looked at me friendly." I snorted. "The Mossfelds, not so much, but I can handle that now. On the other hand, I was sent away so I don't endanger West Harbor by bringing attention to it, and… well, I'm doing just that by going back with a bunch of soldiers, and a weird assortment of adventurers in tow, telling one of the village elders that I am responsible for the death of her son, to another that I really need to talk to him about this past trip of his to some Illefarn ruins in the North, and to a third that it's high time he shared some substantial information with me about my parentage…not to mention that I happen to have someone with me who has…designs on me on a personal level."

"Designs." Casavir took a deep breath. "That is…nicely said."

"Figured I'd use some suitable country-like figure of speech." Despite the warmth of the fire, I felt cold and hugged my knees to my chest, while fishing for more words to suitably express my feelings. As usual, I went _way_ overboard. "As opposed to 'Um, look, foster-father, this here's the scion of the second most powerful family in Neverwinter, and he wants to marry me despite of me being a swamp-dweller redneck. Could you please prove that I don't carry some horrible secret in my past that would bring curse and dishonor to his name and prevent me from providing little blueblood heirs for him…'" I paused and looked at him, trying to gauge his reaction. "Stop looking at me like that, Korranos! I didn't mean this to be funny!"

"A good thing, too." he said carefully, schooling his features into careful neutrality. It was too late, though; I sniffled, only half-joking as he threaded his fingers through mine. "I apologize, _meum mel_, but… sometimes the… unique way you blend what you've been and what you're becoming can truly astonish me."

"Yeah." I muttered, still feeling the tears threatening. "Well, you asked…I think I summed up my feelings rather well there. Paladins never lie, y'know."

"I do." He rumbled and my chest squeezed painfully from the desire to kiss him right then and there, not minding that the entire camp was pretty much out and about. But I disciplined myself: still remembered our first evening on the road when he lingered in my tent to say goodnight, and Neeshka stuck her head in after clearing her throat outside, declaring: "_Hey you two, just saying: if you want to do that, you better put out the light or else not to, um, stand right in front of it. Shadows on tent canvas are pretty obvious, you know?"_

So instead I just elbowed him in the side; that was easier to explain away between captain and her second than kissing, anyway. Full of logical reasoning, me.

It became much easier to be with him after my initiation ceremony, anyway. From what he said before, I suspected it would be so, but it still surprised me just how much it actually helped. It was as if becoming a full paladin, even with the shortened ritual, closed down a painfully open fountainhead of energy that my inadvertent and out-of sequence spell opened up between the two of us. Oh, I still reacted to him being near me, and sometimes, when he smiled that slow, hesitant smile of his, still rare enough to be treasured, my breath still went out of me a bit louder than I'd have liked, but that sharp, urging need to do horrible, sweet things to him no matter the consequences was no longer threatening to overwhelm me at the most inopportune moments. For lack of better words, I 'managed to control my urges' these days much better, and from the way he acted more relaxed around me, I knew that it was a relief for him as well. I wasn't sure how long this lasted, but it made my nights a little bit easier, despite the realization that every time we wanted to just to kiss, we had to sneak between the trees at the campsite's edge like thieves in the night. And that also, naturally, put a damper on our eagerness to get to know each other better. Trust me, nothing cools desire more than knowing that you have a dozen soldiers bustling about doing camp duty, talking, joking, singing dirty songs or just crashing through the bushes in search of a place to relieve themselves.

"It will be all right." Casavir said encouragingly, referring to our pending visit to my birthplace. "Although, I must admit, I am looking forward to meeting your foster-father with some…reservations."

"Oh, I bet." I said, somewhat snidely. "Let me see if I can give you some help in how to handle Daeghun Farlong. First of all, he barely talks. We had days when he maybe said ten words to me, and those were about things he wanted me to do." I nervously patted my hair, remembering another pet peeve of his. "Second, he's fastidiously clean, almost like Sand. Which is quite something, given that he's a ranger in a tiny swamp village…but I swear it's true. Must be an elf thing. So naturally I had to be like that all the time, too, and…"

"I will be sure to scrub my face and comb my hair before you introduce me, _meum mel_." Casavir nodded solemnly, and that earned another elbow in his side, naturally.

So eager I was to give him a handle on how to deal with my foster-father, that we barely noticed the sentries breaking through the underbrush at the edge of the camp, dragging a ragged, middle-aged, unconscious man between them until they were almost upon us.

"Captain!" The older of the soldiers held the man under the arms while trying to salute: never a good combination. "He just kind of…ran out of the dark straight at us, babbling about huntmasters and prey and hunt… Then he just collapsed. Beg your pardon, ma'am, but…didn't know what to do with him, so…"

"Is he injured?" There were cuts and bruises clearly visible on the man's face and limbs not covered by his simple tunic and breeches. He was dressed very lightly for the still cool early Spring, and that, combined with what he said according to the soldier sent my senses to full alert. "Let's see if I can do something about that. You two make sure the camp is on alert; there might be someone pursuing him, obviously." I looked at Casavir but he was already in motion, easing the man onto the trunk we sat on a minute ago, running his palms across his face gently while summoning the god's healing powers. "Go on, now."

"It's over!" The man's eyes flew open as soon as Casavir's spell hit him; his entire body went rigid as he flew into the same panic that, no doubt, chased him straight at my guards. "Please, I beg you…Make it quick."

It always amazes me how fast trained reflexes can take over. In one moment, we were sitting there chatting about my foster-father, watching the evening's meal being prepared, and in the other both of us were in full alert, reaching for our swordbelts laying on the ground next to our seat, me summoning up my light spell above my head to chase away the shadows that crept between us and the edge of the clearing, Casavir humming the chant of detecting creatures of evil…

"You've been running." I said, assessing the man's state. "Who's chasing you?"

He looked around, panic still evident in his entire being, his widening eyes taking in us two, the camp, Sand emerging from his tent with his wizard's staff slowly coming to a glowing life as he took in the mood change settling over the camp, my soldiers forming up at the camp perimeter ready to respond to any threat, Khelgar and Neeshka dropping their cooking instruments and grabbing their weapons from next to the fire…

"They got us out of our beds." The man muttered, clutching at his elbow where a long gash in his tunic showed a cut on his forearm. "A sacred hunt, they said… the Beastlord is needin' sacrifice, so we got to run…" The man's eyes were roaming around still as he shook his head; I could almost feel as his panic subsided and some reason took over. "You're not Malarites?"

"Um, not quite." I said cautiously, touching my holy symbol hanging from its silver chain. What he said…I felt my disbelief and anger rise as I considered it. The servants of the chaotic Lord of Beasts were decidedly not on my list of favorite people, but so far I didn't meet any of them. I knew, however, from my theology lessons with Aevan, that Tyr always considered Malar one of his major adversaries. They were almost exact opposites-Tyr Good and Law, Malar Evil and Chaos. I also heard from my teacher about the hunts some Malar worshippers conducted, selecting unsuspecting humans, elves or other races instead of animals as their prey, capturing, kidnapping and then releasing and chasing them through the wild for as long as possible, until the victims collapsed from exhaustion and the cultists could have their bloody ways with them. According to Aevan, those hunts sometimes involved a dozen or so people as their prey, all killed in exceedingly cruel ways when they could run no further.

I was just about to ask if that's what was happening to him, when the man shook so violently that his scrawny body almost managed to topple Casavir who was supporting him with one arm.

"Oh gods…" The man's broken voice was barely a whimper as his eyes widened again. "They're here!" He pointed towards the edge of our clearing where a half-dozen heavily armed men stepped out from between the trees and walked with absolute confidence straight up to my Greycloaks.

The men knew what to do, I was proud to see. They closed their ranks, crossing their long spears, barring the way. That stopped the arriving group just long enough that I could get there—sometimes it came really useful that I inherited my unknown father's long stride. From the corner of my eye I could see Casavir start after me; Khelgar drifting closer, casually dusting his palms from whatever he was chopping for dinner; Neeshka selecting a brightly colored arrow and holding her short bow at the ready right next to Sand whose fingers were shimmering already with some sort of spell or another. Even Grobnar appeared, ambling amongst some sacks of provisions absentmindedly, his hands strumming chords on his new lute as if he was just trying out some new song…

"May we help you, travelers?" I let my voice ring out with the cadences of some of the god's power. If these were servants of the Beastlord, on a hunt for human prey…it was my duty as a paladin to protect the weak, simple as that. And the terror in that man's eyes, the wounds and scratches on his face and limbs… I felt my hands ball into fists as I imagined what might have happened to him. "'Tis not a good night to be out and on the roads."

"You stand between us and our prey, strangers." I saw the lip of the leader curl into a feral grin. I noticed the long knife he was holding dripped blood on the ground, and as my gaze traveled further, I saw something round and furry-looking hanging from his belt that made me nauseous as I recognized it for what it was: a head, too small to be a full-grown human's. "Step aside, and allow us to complete our sacred hunt."

"You…hunt _people_?" One of my Greycloaks blurted out, paling beneath his mop of chestnut hair. "By Chauntea's garlands, what kind of…?" He threw a side glance at me as his comrade elbowed him, and his complexion instantly changed into bright red. "Gods… begging your pardon, Cap'n, ma'am…I…"

"At ease, soldier." I said, turning towards the Malarite leader. My Greycloak took a look at my face, gulped audibly, and took a quick step backwards.

_The man has the head of a child on his belt._

"I don't believe I need to play nice anymore." I muttered to myself, then lifted my voice.

"I am afraid I cannot allow you to do that." I lifted a hand, touched my holy symbol, then indicated the horrid trophy on his belt, and kept my voice as even as possible. "You will answer for what you've done, servant of the Beastlord."

"Ah." The leader was still grinning, but his gaze moved, back and forth, looking at me, my companions slowly drawing closer, the well-organized camp, and all the soldiers. "One of the righteous ones, it seems, brothers…" Something glinted in his eyes then, something untamed and hungry…something utterly insane. "Your interference will not be tolerated, Tyr's hound." He shrugged, almost nonchalantly, lifting an arm and pointing at the man they were pursuing. "We'll destroy you and then complete our hunt."

And with that, he grabbed the child' head from his belt, lightning-quick, and threw it in my face.

What I said about trained reflexes earlier applied only partially in this case. I was so shocked by what happened that I literally froze for a second: I couldn't decide if I should dodge, catch the gruesome relic thereby rescuing it from further desecration, or just ignore it completely… At the end, my body took over: I dodged, the head only grazed my face as it fell to the ground, but I felt some blood, still seeping from its severed neck, spray my face.

As a result of my surprise, however, the Malarites gained some advantage, which they immediately used up, falling upon my party with howls on their lips that were, no doubt, intended to shock people with less training and discipline. I saw hooked spearheads, serrated knives and other instruments of death, still red from the blood of those they hunted down, rise in the light of our campfire, ready to dispense death again.

But they didn't meet hapless, unprepared innocents sleeping in their beds this time. This was a squad of Greycloaks, the soldiers of Neverwinter, after a long winter's and spring's training under the hard hand of Captain Ballard and his men; along with a small band of adventurers that worked together for long enough to vanquish much more prepared adversaries than half a dozen Malarite fanatics. Looking back at it, I wondered at the utter madness of the attack, and could only understand it if I put it right next to that painful memory of those young cultists in the Bryce crypt in the nobles' cemetery in Neverwinter.

Fanatics. They don't think rationally, they don't form tactical decisions, they are not influenced by reason or details like odds. They are, by definition, fueled by something else: the rage of their conviction, the zealous fire that makes them believe that they are, above all, right and whatever they do will come out right at the end, even if they seemingly lose.

In this case, seven Malarites threw themselves upon half of a Neverwinter Greycloak squad, a high-level wizard with several devastatingly accurate spells and a flair for dramatic but deadly precision, a monk of Tyr who could stop a man's heart by simply tapping them in the stomach once, a rogue who could step into the shadows and send her poisoned arrows from there, unseen and unheard until they found their mark, a bard whose humming tunes could send waves of confusion at enemies and rousing energy of confidence at his allies…and did I mention the two Tyrran paladins standing right in front of them?

The phrase 'righteous wrath' didn't really mean much to me until that day. Sure, I was incensed, angered and even furious before, but in battle I always maintained a cool head. As my grip of the god's battle-time used to be a bit tenuous, I really had to concentrate to keep it in place—and that required a relatively calm state of mind. But this…this deliberate slaughter of innocents, thrown into my face, literally...it felt as if thrown into the very face of the god. And the fact that it was a child…well, that, indeed, is my weak point, I confess.

In light of all that, it was no wonder that as soon as I regained my composure, and felt the blade of that Malarite leader graze my shoulder, the holy wrath of Tyr erupted from me like never before. It felt as if my entire body became the source of that searing, overwhelmingly hot ray of white fire that shot out from the palm of my hand as I threw it up in front of me. I don't remember what I shouted, or how long it lasted, I don't remember how many times I smote my enemies…

I only remember the ashen-white face of that same young Greycloak who apologized to me earlier for his outburst, falling to his knees and throwing up as he gazed at the smoking heap of charred meat pieces that was all that remained from the leader of the Malarites and two of his cohorts. I only remember the face of an older soldier, helping him on his feet and leading him away, careful not to step into the blood of the rest of the cultists laying there on the ground struck down by Sand's thunderbolts, my soldiers' weapons, Neeshka's arrows and Casavir's sword, and his voice, muttering: '_Remind me not to piss off the boss lady…Ever_.'

That remark jerked me back to the world of _now_ with a jolt that shook my entire body. I leaned forward, onto my drawn sword (no, I didn't remember when that happened either) and let out a long sigh.

"Now that…" I murmured when by breath finally evened out, "…was _justice_."

I straightened and looked around, still feeling the last waves of Tyr's power like a slowly retreating tide. It reverberated clearly enough in my voice as I spoke up that Neeshka winced and took a quick step backwards, as if it slapped her on the face.

"See to it that this man", I indicated the refugee, gaping at me slack-jawed from where he sat on the log, "is fed and clothed and has a place to rest. In the morning, guide him through the forest and aid him in gathering his family's remains. We are to give them a proper burial with all the rites and shall see to it that he has the means of starting a new life. He will have a place at Crossroad Keep if he so wishes."

I swayed and only Casavir's arm kept me from falling as the last vestiges of the god's power finally left me, leaving a pounding headache in their wake. I welcomed it this time, inasmuch as one can welcome a headache: it was a price I was more than happy to pay for knowing that _those_ men will never prowl the forests any more.

I made a feeble gesture towards where my tiefling companion stood, her tail twitching wildly as she was controlling her impulse to flee in the presence of raw divine power.

"So sorry, Neesh." My voice was much closer to normal now: just a tiny bit hoarse. "Didn't mean to..."

"'S allright, Rig." she waved her tail at me, visibly relieved that I sounded like myself again. "It was rather spectacular: I wouldn't have missed it for anything. The itching will go away, and anyway, Sand mixed me some potion not long ago that is really helping."

"Oh." I said, cautiously massaging my temple with two fingers. "That's...good, then...As for me... I believe I'll retire now." I muttered, mostly to myself. "If that'd be all right, that is." The world seemed strangely muted, as if I was viewing everything through a thick coating of honey-gold syrup, rich but overwhelming.

"Don't reckon anyone 'd fault you, Little 'Un." Khelgar shook his head, a mile-wide grin splitting his bearded face. "By His right buttock, but that was great fun! I jes' love travelin' with ye!" He beamed up at Casavir. "Did you see those flames? Ha! And people say Tyr can't manage a good butt-kicking!"

Casavir was tense. He only managed a stiff nod acknowledging what Khelgar said, as he slid his arm protectively around my shoulder and steered me towards the shelter of my tent.

"Sergeant, keep the patrols up after cleanup." he snapped at the Greycloak closest to us: it was Deorwin Greylocks, Ballard's old man from the Old Owl Well days. "Doubles around the perimeter, change every three hours, full combat ready. Use Brother Khelgar and Mistress Neeshka if necessary. Clear?"

"Yes, sir!" Deorwin did a full salute then turned on his heels and boomed at his men. "Y'all heard the Commander, ladies…get on it!"

"I got to learn commanding voice." I murmured under my nose as he maneuvered my mostly limp form into my tent and deposited me into my camp chair. "'S useful. Not to mention attractive. Mmm."

Andoras materialized from somewhere at the other edge of the camp like a good page should, slightly out of breath, and I heard Casavir sending him for some water and a washcloth, while he started to divest me of my mail shirt and boots himself.

"Oh, my." I said slowly. "Hold on, soldier, I … at least give me your name."

"What?" He stared at me with one of my boots in his hands, blue eyes narrowed.

"And the manners are gone, too." I shook my head hoping it would clear. "You're stripping me. I tried to make a joke, I'm…"

"You're high on the god's power, Arrighan." Casavir took the jug and washcloth from Andoras and shooed him out of the tent with the same unquestionable authority he displayed with the soldiers. "'Tis not the first time it happens, so I know how to handle it… but there is no need for others to witness."

"Ah. " I nodded wisely, as if I knew what the hells he was talking about. "Ooh, water." I grabbed the earthenware jug from him and took a long swig. "Wish it was something stronger, though."

As soon as I said that, realization hit me, helped by, no doubt, the cold water: _this_ was what we meant, exactly this. No internal voice, no inhibitions… _High on the god's power_, _indeed_, and yes, it wasn't the first time.

"Shit." I tried to stand up, failed, and got all flustered. "You're right. Sorry…so sorry. Should have recognized it myself…" My hands fluttered in my lap like useless appendages. "Do you know when…when I'm going to stop?"

"I think you already did." He gently smoothed the washcloth on my forehead. "Usually you either start apologizing or you throw up."

"Great." I leaned back in my chair, wiggling my toes experimentally. "And since I started doing the first, I won't do the second one…"

"One hopes." He deadpanned, and relief spread through his face as he heard me chuckle.

'Ah, _meum mel_." he said, shaking his head and, in a rare outburst of spontaneous affection, bumping his forehead against mine. "You'll be the death of me one of these days."

"Sorry… too late to complain." I whispered, the thick golden coating on my world receding to give way to the sweet crimson and lavender of his emotions as our auras touched. "You're stuck with me."

"And I would not have it any other way." He stood, still holding my hand, inclining his head towards my cot already set up in the corner. "You need that rest, however. I shall make sure your sleep is undisturbed."

"Ever the gentleman." I sighed after him as he left the tent, his quick kiss lingering on the back of my hand. "Dammit, sometimes I wish it were not so."

I knew it was just the battle fatigue speaking, though: at least that's how I decided to deal with it, and it worked for the moment. I finished undressing, splashed some water on my face, applied some light healing on my shoulder where the Malarite bruised it with his glancing blow, and tried to get comfortable under my blankets. The camp was, of course, anything but quiet—through the throbbing of my headache, I heard everything. Deorwin's editorials, while cleaning up after our fight, were more colorful than they'd have with me there, I suspected. He still didn't quite understand the concept of me actually being able to swear myself. I had to own, though: some of his cusswords were good enough to make me blush.

Once that was done, dinner obviously wasn't on the list of priorities—given the gruesome duty they just performed, I doubted that food was on anyone's mind. What I heard soon, though, was singing and the sound of music: Grobnar clearly employed one of his favorite bardic spells that made his lute sound like three or four other instruments. It was unmistakably one of the border songs, a harsher melody, coming from those who served once up in the Sword Mountains in the campaigns against the orc tribes and Luskan's intrusions—I never knew the gnome was familiar with these, but given that I actually met him up there, close to Old Owl Well, he might even played those songs to some of the same soldiers.

Soldiers, what finer worth  
is there upon this earth  
than the borderlands can show?  
Where in the time of Spring  
beautiful birds all sing  
setting our hearts all aglow –  
the fields have a fresh smell  
where dew from heaven fell,  
delighting us through and through!

Let the foe but appear –  
brave soldiers have no fear,  
their hearts are roused by battle.  
High-spirited they rise,  
and shouting their war-cries  
quickly they prove their mettle.  
Some fall, wounded or slain,  
but the foe flees again –  
our lads have suffered little.

Banners and gory spears  
each one of our men bears  
riding in the army's van.  
They dash like the sharp wind,  
footmen follow their lead,  
for such is the battle plan.  
Pommels of leopard-hide,  
gleaming shields at their side  
hang beside each crested man.

For honour and good name,  
for manhood and for fame,  
they leave everything behind –  
they give up all they own  
nobly, and quite alone,  
staunch models of humankind –  
like hunting hawks they fly  
across the smoke-stained sky,  
of the wind they one remind!

So when the foe they spy,  
joyous, give battle cry,  
wielding lances gallantly.  
Should the odds prove too great,  
sharply they turn and wait,  
though blood-drenched, unflinchingly  
fall on the chasing foe  
and strike them, blow for blow,  
routing them victoriously.

Braves of the borderland,  
noble and glorious band!  
Warriors of grand repute!  
Through the whole world your name  
has won honour and fame,  
like rich orchards ripe with fruit.  
With good luck and riches  
may Tyr fill your britches –  
may His boon be absolute!

A strange song: strangely rousing for such a gruesome subject...I reflected briefly. Also, very fitting for what we were doing at Crossroad Keep... or hoped to, anyway. The contrast of springtime bliss and the grim business of war wasn't as great as it might have seemed at first glance: springtime naturally meant that it was possible again, after the long quiet of the winter, to go on campaign again...and that was exactly what we were doing now, even though it started out, for me, originally, and a bit naively, as a simple, quick trip to visit my home village. As sleep finally claimed me, I had to realize that 'simple' and 'quick' were two words that perhaps will never be used again when it came to describing the road I was on.

Compared to the excitement of the evening, the next day, our last on the road was almost boring. The weather, highly unusual in the Mere, was clear and sunny, lifting the spirits of everyone in our company—except mine. As we got closer and closer on the narrow, winding road to West Harbor, I got more and more agitated and nervous. I never paid as much attention to my appearance as that morning, scrubbing my face and hair until my skin was red, making sure my shirt cuffs were clean and all the clasps of my jerkin shone, and that Andoras polished my armor perfect during our noontime stop.

"Agh, Rig, what's the matter with you?" Neeshka asked exasperatedly when she noticed me fretting to the point of tears about a mudsplash on my trousers. "You act like a friggin' Blacklake lady already?"

"Shut up, Neesh." I looked at her darkly. "You have no idea what Daeghun..."

"Gods!" She threw her hands up. "You're telling me that you're afraid what your foster-father says if he sees a speck of dirt on your clothing? You reduced three Malarites to charred chunks last night _without even drawing your weapon,_ and you're almost in tears about your _appearance_? Seriously?" She turned to Casavir, who was listening to our exchange with a slight frown on his face. "You do something and soon, okay? I just can't deal with her in such a...such a... _bitchy_ state." She turned on her heels and hurried away to where lunch was being distributed, her tail swinging wildly in irritation.

"I'll be fine." I said, scrubbing at the mud spot furiously. I resisted the urge to lick my fingertip. "Just let me...deal with this on my own. Okay?"

Casavir looked at me, long and hard, not moving or gazing away, until I stopped my attempts of getting the dirt off my clothes and actually lifted my eyes at him.

"As you wish, my lady." he said finally, the formal sentence accompanied by a formal enough bow that even in my frantic state it stopped me my tracks.

"You're the best." I said with a lopsided grin and gave him an awkward one-armed hug: it was kind of difficult to be affectionate in armor. "I think I'm overcompensating for something, and I'll be able to look at this objectively once I'm over the first frantic minutes of homecoming, but right now, I just..."

"You're just need to be left to do what you can to deal with what is to come." He nodded, reaching up and tucking an errant wisp of my hair back where it belonged. "I believe I kept it hidden well enough, but just getting back to Callum's camp at Old Owl Well was hard enough on me to keep my stomach churning for days. There's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Thank you." He always knew the right thing to say: it was only partly the paladin training, and largely his generous and humble personality...I caught myself at actually smiling and the gnawing pit of dread in the bottom of my gut eased up somewhat. "Truly; for this and for all the rest you no doubt will endure while at West Harbor."

"I hardly think it will be that bad..." he started but I waved him down, my nervousness immediately coming back as I thought more about that particular part.

"You'd think." I muttered darkly, checking Lorra's reins yet again. "However..."

I must say, my foster-father never missed an opportunity to prove that no matter how prepared I was for every eventuality about him, Daeghun Farlong was still capable of reducing his foster-daughter, full paladin, Captain of Crossroad Keep and all, absolutely speechless.

"Ah, Arrighan." That was all he said when I swung down from the saddle in front of the gate and he looked up from where he was stacking firewood at the side of the house. "You return."

"I, ah..." I gestured helplessly behind me, at the Greycloaks, my companions, the horses, carts, everything. There was movement all over the main street as people came out to their gates to stare: we made quite a sight, even here at the isolated end of the village. As flat as the terrain was here, we were clearly visible even from the Buckmans' alehouse. "Um...yes, you can say that...foster-father."

I swallowed; there was this lump in my throat and about a million memories assaulted me about this exact same place. The freshest one was the sharpest from my last time here: still smoldering little fires everywhere from the githyanki attack the night before, and the quiet but stone-hard determination in Daeghun's eyes as he closed the gate behind me with a final click.

He was still waiting there, patiently, but with that certain set of his shoulders that clearly signaled that he had something else to do. Just as I suspected, there wasn't a spot of dirt on him, and his lean, spare frame showed no shine of sweat from the hard work he obviously was engaged in either.

"Guests?" he inquired now, with that mild tone of disapproval in his voice and that particular tilt of his head that was worth a thousand words, including a reminder that our home had only two rooms and definitely no facilities to house whatever crazy circus troupe I dragged back with me.

"Ah..." And I still wasn't able to start a sentence without hemming and hawing. I just stood there, mouth slightly open, mind furiously working, cursing myself continuously for my inability to behave more fitting to my status and title, and anyway, _what in the hells was wrong with me_? "Yes... Sorry for not sending ahead, I..."

"If you allow me, my lady..." Casavir materialized by my elbow, and I was never more grateful for his presence. "We seriously apologize for our intrusion on you so unexpectedly, Master Farlong. Your foster daughter..."

"Arrighan?" Daeghun turned to me fully now, eyes slightly narrowed, and I just knew with my guts shrinking even more, that somehow Casavir committed a grievous error by speaking right there and then, that in the world that Daeghun Farlong inhabited, men, especially strange, tall young men did _not_ intrude on conversations he was having with his errant foster-daughter about her bringing uninvited houseguests...

"Erm, foster-father...this is Casavir Korranos, of Neverwinter...My brother in Tyr, and..." I swallowed and trailed away, lamely, unable to finish the sentence.

"I see." Daeghun's eyes held absolutely no expression as he looked Casavir up and down. The elf was considerably shorter, but suddenly I had the impression that it didn't really matter. They held each other's gaze for a second, and I never prayed so hard in my entire life to Tyr for help...

Then Daeghun's stance relaxed, he made a strange little headshake, and gestured towards the pile of wood at the side of the house.

"Well, I was chopping up wood for the fireplace here; the nights are still chilly and I'm not nearly done yet. Why don't you see if Georg can do something about settling your folks down, foster-daughter, and..." The hesitation was just barely perceptive as he looked at Casavir again and if I'd not known him better I could have sworn that Daeghun Farlong had a twinkle in his eye, "...maybe your man here can help me with the firewood?"


	58. Pushed You Down In My Soul

**King of Shadows, Queen of Light**

**Author Notes:**

_**All right—I am back! Must have been the longest creative slumber in fic history, but I am encouraged by all of those who still read and favorite this little project of mine, and I am deeply grateful for every one of you. While I cannot guarantee the speed of my updates, I can probably commit to more than a chapter a year… ::grin::**_

_**The usual disclaimer still applies: I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin. I take full responsibility for that Pendwyr girl, though... **_

_**And for those of you who like my little 'soundtrack' I provide for my chapters, here are the songs that helped this time to break the ice: Susan Enan feat. Sarah McLachlan: Bring On the Wonder (I've used the version from the Bones soundtrack as I liked the pacing better); Dead Can Dance-I Am Stretched On Your Grave (from Toward The Within) and The Chieftains with Bonnie Raitt- Stor Mo Chroi (from Tears of Stone).**_

**Chapter Fifty-Eight: Pushed You Down In My Soul**

My tension eased a bit after my long talk with Georg. As we stopped by the makeshift camp on the Harvest Fair grounds to make sure my Greycloaks had everything they needed and letting them know about the invitation to the Greengrass festivities, I noticed a tiny but undeniable smirk on Sand's face.

"What's the matter, O, wizard?" I asked, slowing my steps. "Enjoyed Georg's remarks about the swamp elf _that_ much?"

"Pfft." Sand made one of his more elaborate hand gestures. "Don't even get me started on the manners of your village elder, please. No, I merely was reflecting on the fate of your brother in Tyr at your foster-father's hand."

I think I said something rude and soldier-like. It might have gone on longer than a simple sentence, even.

"Tsk,tsk. Language, my dear girl." Sand shook his head, still amused. He relaxed considerably after he and Tarmas took each other's measure in Georg's house, and the curmudgeonly balding wizard of my childhood offered his hospitality to his 'colleague in the Arts' for the duration of our stay. I was more than glad about that offer, as I talked to Sand about my memory about Tarmas investigating Illefarn ruins in his youth earlier. "It's an ancient elven custom, you know, nothing out of the ordinary."

"Huh?" I still wasn't at my level best, but at least I progressed to inarticulate grunts instead of swearwords.

"What your foster-father is doing." Sand said patiently, as if talking to a child. "Making Casavir… do chores. Stack and chop wood, probably some roof repair as well…" I stared. "It's the same for all the Kindred, no matter where we live. The father of the girl measuring up the young man who has… intentions for his daughter. Traditionally, they used to take them out to hunt, field dress a kill, whatnot." He sniffed. "It's always menial work, though…I remember my father telling me about how my grandfather got him into cleaning out his study from top to bottom, the first time they ever met. He hoped for a refined discussion of the classics by the fireside, sipping wine, he said…instead he got dust, dried-up mice carcasses behind shelves and towers of books that constantly fell on him. Silverfish, too… all over the older tomes. Grandfather wasn't too keen at protecting his library, apparently. My dad couldn't believe the sacrilege—he was raised to believe in the sacredness of the written word. We often joked that this was why I was sent to study as a wizard…"

I watched his face as he talked: it grew softer, sharp angles melting somewhat into younger curves, his voice almost wistful. I've never heard him talking about his family before, and I held on to the moment as if it was a small, beautiful and infinitely fragile precious stone. I knew that I won't get another opportunity soon to get a glimpse into the dockside wizard's past as he has been before the world formed him into this hard, street-wise bitter elf.

"Anyway…" Sand took a deep breath, returning to the present, "I thought you need to know before you think this is some personal torture that Daeghun reserved for you and you only. He's following an ancient custom to the letter… and with it, my dear girl, he affirms something that has, no doubt, plagued your thoughts all too often." I turned to face him and I caught that softer look in his eyes again that, absurdly, reminded me that he literally had a few centuries on me. "You're his daughter, Arrighan, no matter what your blood says. He cares about you and wants to make sure your life, when it happens, gets tied to someone who'll value you as you are and would do anything for you…up to and including cutting firewood and mending roofs."

_Elves_. I shook my head to dislodge the suddenly gathered tears from my eyes. Really, who'd have thought that Sand, _Sand_ of all people will be giving me insight into my foster-father?

"As long as Casavir doesn't fall off said roof…" I sniffed, trying to disguise my momentary weakness, and cursing inwardly because of it. _By the Lord of Justice, if I get this mushy about this, how am I supposed to deal with what I am about to set out to do? "_Thank you, Sand. I appreciate you helping me out here." I took a deep breath. "But what I need to do now is my burden alone." I put a hand on his shoulder. "Would you please let everyone know that I have…something private to do and I shall… join everyone at the feast Georg is throwing at the community hall tonight?"

The wizard's eyes searched my face for a second, then he nodded.

"Of course, dear girl." He patted my hand, a bit awkwardly. "Remember that I was there when we opened that cell." His eyes were serious. "If you have a need for that sleeping draught afterwards again, just let me know."

"I think I'll just avail myself to Lazlo Buckman's ale, and I'll be fine." I tried to smile: I always appreciated the hells out of when he got all concerned about me. This was yet another side of him that he didn't allow to surface too often, but I suspected it was just as integral part of his inner self as his apparently deep-seated care for his family.

Speaking about… I sighed inwardly as I turned towards Andoras, who seeing my return ran up to me expectantly and breathlessly.

"I'll be needing that ebony box from my war chest, Andoras. " I said, indicating the pile of stuff that was awaiting transport to my foster-father's house. "And do you have a tent set up so I can wash up real quick?"

I rummaged through my chest until I found what I needed and Andoras managed to rustle up some water and a quiet place for me to change into my plain blue Tyrran 'uniform' as I called the assembly I purchased so long ago from Hassim in Neverwinter. Then I took the dark box under my arm, squared my shoulders and set out across the field to where the Starlings' farmhouse stood at the edge of the village, its windows dimly lit behind the starched white curtains.

I had no doubt that they already knew I was here: we made enough ruckus arriving, and West Harbor isn't –wasn't—that big. Despite the fact that Daeghun's house stood on one end, and the Starling farm practically on the other, separated from the village itself by the fairgrounds, it's impossible to miss a bunch of soldiers, horses, carts and assorted others riding in and spending considerable time setting up camp practically in the Starlings' front yard, as it were. I found it odd, though: I'd have imagined Bevil to be at least present when I spoke to the elders—I suspected once I left, Georg made him his second-in-command in the militia for sure. But he wasn't there at the meeting hall, adjacent to the Lathander chapel… and both Georg and Brother Merrick had been rather vague about why. They said something about 'something that occurred while he was off scouting in the Mere' but offered no further details. I was used to my compatriots' close-mouthedness, but Sand and Khelgar both made faces, not understanding why I didn't receive a detailed blow-by-blow account of everything that transpired in the village since I've left. I just shrugged: despite me being a squire, captain of a castle and full paladin of Tyr, in their eyes I still had pigtails and skinned knees. Plus, those two with me weren't Harbormen, so…

I knew how their minds worked... and I could only hope that Bevil himself would be more forthcoming with me once we actually met face to face. As I stood there on the whitewashed porch, rocking back-and-forth on my heels, I felt the creaking floorboards and all the memories came rushing back at once… making it almost impossibly difficult to lift my arm and rap my knuckles on the doorframe.

Retta opened the door almost immediately, making me think she probably heard my steps on the porch. Her back was still just as straight as before, her apron starched, hair in a tight bun: every inch the consummate housewife, resident wise woman and mother of four boys.

"Arrighan." She said, her expression unreadable. "Welcome back, child." Her gaze slid over my formal clothes, posture and the box in my arm, and her carefully constructed façade crumbled just a tiny little bit. "I take it this…isn't merely a social call to one of your old teachers?"

I never really found it odd until I left West Harbor and returned, just how some of the leaders of our village were refugees from the wide world: Tarmas and Daeghun to start with, Brother Merring from the Lathander temple in Neverwinter, and Retta Starling, too, with her minor magical talent herself, married to the biggest landowner of the area and then widowed so soon after her twin boys were born, long after Lorne and Bevil. I always knew she was 'not from around here' as Georg often put it, but knowing it and seeing it now, after coming back from Neverwinter…

The city left its mark all over her: accent, manners, hairstyle, even the thin lace she made to decorate her apron and her kerchief. The memory of how she tried to teach me the art of lacemaking in vain lanced through my brain keen and painful and I took a deep breath.

"May I come in, Mrs. Starling, please?" That was how I always addressed her while living here; while Georg lost the 'Mr. Redfell' and became 'Georg' about the same time I've started paladin training, I just couldn't even imagine calling Retta Starling her first name.

"Definitely not a social call: you're as formal as you've never been before." Her thin lips pursed together even move as she stood to the side. "I had Mrs. Buckman running in here telling me all about how you rolled in with an army not a glass after you've arrived. Well, get inside, I'm baking for the feast, and some of that pastry doesn't like the draught."

I obeyed immediately, a habit borne of long years. The air was warm inside, and redolent of baking bread, sweet pastry, and some spices that brought up even more childhood memories…and Retta Starling was just as practical and no-nonsense as always. As if nothing has happened at all since I've left.

"The kids are over at the feast hall helping to decorate," she said briskly, marching into her kitchen, just to the right of the parlor. "If you don't mind, I'll need to stay in here so I finish on time…"

"Um…" My brain desperately tried to come up with the proper way of saying that maybe she'd really rather receive my news in her parlor when he whirled around and looked at me with narrowed eyes.

"Way too tongue tied." She looked me up and down. "If this is about Bevil, I told Georg already to stop treating my son as a baby. He does what he deems best and…"

"Mrs. Starling," I said, a tad more forcefully than I really intended. I think some residue of my powers must have bubbled up, because I saw her sway a little as she stood and take a little step back. But she stopped talking, which helped me to find the words that I've rehearsed about six million times on our way here already. "I apologize for being the bearer of bad news but I need to talk to you about your eldest son, Lorne, whose fate I vowed to discover before I've left West Harbor."

"Ah." The healthy color that heightened her cheekbones from the warmth of her kitchen faded rapidly as she leaned against the doorframe. Those were words every mother dreaded to hear: I knew from my days as a Watch Lieutenant. "In that case, please sit in the parlor." She bit her lip and waved a hand towards a chair. "May I offer something to drink?"

Her demeanor changed to formal as well; here we were. The pit in my stomach iced over and contracted. The memories were trembling right at the edge of my consciousness: my celestial self pushed back as hard as possible to keep them at bay and to enable me to form coherent sentences.

"Maybe later." I said, choking back acid bile, and squared my shoulders back the way you did it before taking the heaviest part of your armor on. "Mrs. Starling, I need to inform you of your son, Lorne Starling's untimely and unfortunate death." I've shifted the box under my arm, brought it forward on my palms, looking her squarely in the eyes. "I've been entrusted with his ashes to bring him home, on behalf of Neverwinter."

"Neverwinter!" Retta spat the word as if it was a curse. Her aura swirled with the yellow of fear and black of anger, clearly visible as my emotions weakened the shield I've normally kept up in front of my ability to look at people that way all the time. "They sent my boy back in a box?"

"I…" I shook my head: I've never thought this would be easy.

_Come on, paladin, you can do this._

"Mrs. Starling, I am so very sorry, but this is a long tale. If you'd like to sit down and I can bring you some water, maybe I can tell you how it happened?"

Retta sniffed, and pushed weekly on my hand as I tried to slide an arm around her shoulder.

"Don't you dare to order me around in my own house…" she said weakly, but the second time she allowed me to lead her to one of the parlor chairs. She sank into it with almost all of the ugly colors leaving her aura; I pushed a bit on mine, letting it surround her. Her breathing was quick and shallow, and her hands trembled as she took the box from me.

"I'll just be a moment." I gave her aura another push of encouragement and strength (some part of me was rather terrified of the fact how easily that came these days), and hurried to the kitchen that hasn't changed at all since I've left. I found a mug hanging exactly where it was supposed to be under the cupboard on a peg, grabbed the jug from the pantry with the sweet well water, poured some and brought it back to her.

"Oh, I think I might need something stronger than that," she said, still with bitterness in her voice, but the ugly biting edge of hysterics was mostly gone. Her training that allowed her to use minor magics as our resident wise-woman served her well now. "The brandy is still in the cupboard over there…" she gestured towards the huge piece of oak furniture at the end of the parlor. "If you would…"

"Of course." I obeyed, watching her draining her water in big gulps. The brandy was still in the same old bottle that was refilled each year: home-distilled plum from the trees in their backyard. The scent of early autumn fruit filled the room as I poured into two tiny glasses carefully kept hidden in the depths of the cupboard.

"All right, Arrighan." Retta's eyes still looked pain-filled, but her hands were steadier as she took the glass from me and emptied it with one sharp movement. "It's all the waiting…" she murmured, as the turned it around in her hand. "All the years of waiting…"

"I know…I'm sorry." I reached out and squeezed her hand. "Not knowing what happened to your son for ten years is… I can't even imagine. But…" I took a sip to steel myself and the heat of the drink, distilled from nothing but pure fruit, poured over my throat and into my belly like liquid sunshine: scouring, warming and cleansing.

Just what I needed.

"But I am here now, and I have a long tale to tell." I looked into her pain-filled eyes. "If at the end, you decide I have no place in your home, I'll leave. But you have a right to know."

And so I told Retta Starling, mother of Lorne Starling how, on a cold night at the Sunken Flagon tavern I've spotted her beloved eldest son covered in the tattoos of an elite Luskan assassin, and how later I've found evidence of him attempting to incriminate me in the massacre of an entire village, committed by his own hands. I laid out the events of my trial only briefly, but when I finally arrived to the combat, my voice faltered a bit at the part of how I managed to wound her son almost-fatally, and how he was carried away on a stretcher by his Luskan companions in a haste.

"My Lorne… in Luskan's service?" Retta finally looked up from staring at her hands, still toying with her brandy-glass. "Trying to kill you? But… he _knew_ you… you were _kin_!"

And there it was…the part that hurt me the most. Yes, Lorne was a fellow Harborman, and I always knew that Retta considered me as part of her extended family: kin. To harm one as such… for us backwards swamp-dwellers of our close-knit village it was almost unthinkable.

"I know, Mrs. Starling." I said gently. "As far as we were able to determine, that's why he was chosen for this assignment. What Luskan takes, Luskan breaks… and puts back together in a very, very twisted way."

"You always hear the stories…" she whispered; the glass twirled amongst her fingers. "Of course you do. But to see it done to one of your own…" She looked at me now, great green eyes swimming in tears unshed for ten years. "But you…you didn't kill him." Her words were falling from her lips like heart's blood. "It wasn't you, right?"

"My lord Tyr's justice demanded for him to be returned to his city in disgrace." I nodded. "I felled him with my sword, but the god sentenced him to live with what he'd done and face justice from those he'd favored over those who…loved him still." My mouth felt parched again, and the devastated landscape of Ember coalesced before my eyes for a moment, washing away the memories of Lorne, the dashing soldier of Neverwinter, laughing and joking before marching away to the war from which he's never returned.

"Ah, Arrighan." Retta wiped at her eyes: her façade of cool demeanor, so constant through all my years here, completely gone. "That we did, didn't we? All our love wasn't enough to protect him from whatever befallen him. The way they turned him into…" She shuddered, and one of her hands reached out to gently pat that box on the little table by her chair. "Ashes, like my heart." She took a deep, shuddering breath and looked at me again. "Now tell me all. Tell me everything. If you sent him back to those masters of him, how come you are the one bringing him home at the end?"

A paladin cannot lie to a direct question asked, and so I was compelled to tell Retta Starling _everything _intruth, with all the details. I was also, for good or bad, blessed by Tyr to be able to see things so much clearer than others when recalled from memory…And so, as I told Retta about Lorne's master, the black mage of horrible powers who wished to ally himself with an ancient spirit of evil, and who punished his failed servants the most horrible way imaginable: throwing them into the dungeon of the ruined castle he used as his base of operations; as I was telling the grieving mother how I find her son's disintegrating corpse thrown into a dank cell along with the still-alive ex-ambassador Torio Claven—I was still seeing them just as vividly as if it was yesterday. I felt my body twisting and wracked by waves of compassion for Retta Starling, listening to my words that she demanded I spoke with the face of a woman aged twenty years since she opened that door… and I slipped from my chair, took her hands in mine and embraced her frail body tightly, hiding her face in my shoulder so she could, finally, let go all of those unshed tears of a decade and hoping that in her sobs I might find some absolution too.

"Mother?" The voice at first was almost unrecognizable. "Mother why are you crying? And… oh."

"Bevil?" I think my disbelief was rather visibly on my face as I looked up. I felt Retta disentangling, still sniffing and I stood up, keenly aware that my blue doublet was soaked over my shoulder with her tears. "It's me…it's Arrighan."

"I can see that." Now that I could really look at him, my childhood friend looked…ill. I felt my eyes narrow as I took in his once-powerful frame: his skin was sagging off his bones as if he was wasting away from the unhealthy fires of something that licked around the edges of his eyes almost visibly. "Why are you here? Did you make Mother cry?"

_What in the hells has happened to you, Bevil_? I wanted to ask, but decided to frame that a little but more…diplomatically, considering the circumstances. I also recalled how evasive Georg was when I asked him about Bevil earlier and I suddenly wished I'd pressed harder.

"And a good evening to you too." I said, and turned back to Retta to see that her eyes were almost completely dry now. "I was visiting your mother to bring news about your brother."

"So you _did_ make her cry," he nodded, pushing himself away from the bottom of the stairs and stalking into the parlor like a ragged, sickly bird of prey. "Seems like misfortune follows you indeed at every turn."

"Bevil!" Retta straightened up and her voice cracked in the air like a whip. However much her eldest's death might have broken her, she was still the same iron-willed matriarch she was when I left, apparently. "You will show respect to my guest while under my roof, son!"

"Or else what…mother?" Bevil tilted his head to the side, the motion strange on him, almost alien, along with the twitch of his lips that passed for a smile. "You'll kick me out?"

I that second, in that light, with that smile on his lips, he seemed to resemble Lorne more than ever before, and I shivered.

"Bevil." Retta sat back in her chair heavily, one hand going to her temple. Her voice sounded as if this wasn't the first time they argued like this. "This is really not the time and place to start it all over again."

"Oh, but it exactly is the right time." Bevil stood right in front of me now, and my shivers got stronger as I involuntarily felt his aura. It seethed with deep gashes of pus-yellow: wounds that were bleeding constantly in the astral world, causing never-ending pain to their bearer_. No wonder Bevil behaved like he did_, I thought dizzily. _That much suffering would have made even grizzled warriors half-mad…and Bevil is my age, who hasn't seen combat since we've visited the lizardmen's lair on the night when I had to flee West Harbor._

_The night Amie died, _I remembered suddenly.

_Oh, gods. Amie._

I had to close my eyes, partially in shame for forgetting it, partially from the effort it took not to rush forward and embrace Bevil the same way I just did his mother. It would have been exactly the wrong thing to do right now, because…

…because I could now clearly see the fault lines of his soul: how he, unable to accept what happened, laid the blame for that night, and chiefly for Amie's death, entirely on me; but at the same time, resented my departure and how I got a chance to do something while he was whittling his time away in the Mere, in Georg's militia never given a chance to either prove himself or to avenge Amie, except…

…_except for that night when he got…_

I felt like someone just kicked me square between the eyes and the world spun. Bevil clearly had _something_ there, and it reacted rather violently to even my light probing. My celestial self insisted, pushing down gently but firmly on that particular wound, packed tightly with something that was oozing and greenish and _not quite from this world…_

_The darkness of a cold night, him running out of the house after yet another argument with Retta about him going to…_

…_you're spending days at her grave, Bevil, that's not normal, even Brother Merring is worried…_

…_running and running and the icy wet earth of the village cemetery, the smell of snow and mud and old dried flowers… Shivering and cold, clods of soil between fingertips… the memory of a sweet face, of a wide smile and chestnut tresses in the wind…_

_Amie…_

…_and the sliding of feet on the wet snow, crunch and crack as a branch breaks under an alien foot…_

…_something green and full of hate…_

"No!" A sharp cry, like a hawk: my power broke away, retreated, pulled back at that rejection…I regained my senses and stared into the pain-filled eyes of Bevil Starling in front of me.

"No, Arrighan," he breathed heavily, shaking his head. "I know you have powers, but no…please. Don't. I…"

"I'm sorry." I whispered, feeling ashamed. I intruded, like I never meant to…those seething tendrils of pain and hatred on his astral body almost irresistibly compelled me to go and look and try to help, to understand, but I couldn't.

I wasn't invited: and a paladin should never attempt to heal if it wasn't consented. It was practically an anathema, and one of the fastest way to Fall: to assume we knew better than others what was needed, and deciding we could overrule others' wishes, even if it meant that those wishing so lived in pain and suffering.

Bevil wasn't ready to confront whatever really was at the bottom of his pain's well and now he almost doubled over from the added pain of my poking… Retta was also hurt from my news, from my story, from, I knew suddenly, the real danger of losing not one son, but two, and one right in front of her eyes...

"I'll…go now." I said quietly, gathering my cloak around me: I was cold again, despite the warmth seeping in from the kitchen fire. "I shall come back if you wish me to, later, but… it's best if I go now. My return to your house brought too much pain and memories, and for that I am truly sorry, Mrs. Starling." My voice sounded a bit stronger now, as I turned towards Retta, who nodded with quiet dignity. "For my part in it, as well, and for my inability to ease it more than I could. Should you wish, know that I am willing to do whatever you ask of me to lessen the burden." I felt the rustle of those white wings, and heard Retta's sharply indrawn breath as her arcane senses realized the potential of what I've just said. "You too, Bevil. " I added, and the pure agony in his eyes almost doubled me over.

"Whatever ails you, my friend…" I whispered, reaching my hand out and finally resting it lightly on his shoulder, "…I truly hope you will be free of it soon. You only have but ask, and…"

"Go." Bevil has hiding his face in his hands now, shaking. His voice was strangled. "Please, go, and now. I can't…I can't do it…"

"Later, Arrighan." Retta, again, was the stronger: she always was. "Later, we'll talk. But now, please, go."

Her grip on my elbow was surprisingly strong as she led me to her door: I followed numbly, still half-numb from my inability to do _something_…

"My son has not been himself since you've left, but it is not my place to talk as to why." Her narrow lips twisted into a sad smile. "My heart hopes that one day he can speak to you about it, and thus I can…at least get one of them back." She swallowed heavily, then lifted a hand as if in benediction.

"May the Painbearer of Sorrows give you understanding and patience," she whispered, and I finally realized where I've seen that smile before: on the icon of Ilmater, the Broken God in the funeral chapel of the Korranos family; The One Who Endures, who watches over those who suffer and in need of succor.

I never felt so small as when I bent my head to receive the blessing from Retta Starling, midwife, wise-woman and, above all, mother, who knew so much about pain, broken hearts and crushed hopes.


End file.
